“There is no death in this wood, there is only permanence…”
“I fucking hate Jhesing Road,” Hoots spits shamelessly to Jhesing Road’s face. He made it about a third of the way up before he couldn’t run anymore. “Maybe a week ago, ‘man. Maybe even last night. Maybe I ran to the fuckin’ church and that’s why it was so humid in the basement,” he barters. “Maybe it was all just my sweat.”
Maybe it was, Howie “Hoots” McGee. Maybe it was.
Howie looks at the road in front of him. Immediately he closes his eyes. “Jhesing Road is a climb, all right, it’s a Goddamned mountain of mayhem, ladies’n’germs,” he cries into his hands. “Four-wheeled vehicles get winded driving up this fucker.” He wipes his hands on his pants, then on his face, then on his pants again. Howie repeats this self-destructive cycle five times before he realizes it’s not helping at all, then opens his eyes to the harsh white and demeaning ashy gray of it all. “And now I get to climb it.”
‘You mean we get to climb it, Hootsie Babey!’ Howie makes the voice in his head say.
“I sure do, Howie. I sure do.”
Hello Commons, this has been the seventh subchapter of the second chapter of Flowers, a novel about a man who smokes the last of his pot.
Flowers is part of the Third Spiral, an anthology of sorts called The Here and Now which is comprised of stories told from the various planes of Existence.
Flowers is available to read for free in its entirety on my website. Click here to check it out.
I’ve written a few other books, too. Click here to see the list.
If you like Flowers and would like to help support my work, click here and buy an autographed copy of the book (or anything else!) from my store. Alternatively, you can snag a cheaper (and unsigned) copy from Amazon by clicking here.
Be well Commons~