It was the last tomorrow. I’d heard that the Seven-Eleven had gas but when I got there – nada. Not a drop. The couple who ran the place had always been the best of people – but tonight they had locked themselves in the back of the store and weren’t coming out. Mabel shouted something about spending their final hours in bed together. I’d hope to get enough fuel to get me to Raleigh. See the folks. Say goodbye. The last sunset broke through the clouds – I stood on the roof, turned up Springsteen and shouted every cussin’ word that I knew.
bobby stevenson 2020
photo: Theo Gosselin.
No comments:
Post a Comment