FREDERICK'S BURG
(pithy and curt)
Old Fred was in Virginia -
which sounded like a bawdy
sex-joke to me at first, but I
waited, saying nothing. The
speedometer said 82, which
was pretty fast for anything
Fred would do. He wasn't
much for driving curves or
keeping from scraping curbs
or guardrails too. Me and
Hetty, we just sat back. The
purple fellow, up in the front
passenger seat, I noticed, was
watching Fred carefully, and
with beads of sweat poised
along his brow.
-
First it was Marye's Heights,
then it was Waverly Village, all
that crap passing in a flintlock
instant. All I remembered were
signs for Courtland, Salem,
and Battlefield. 'What's it all
mean?', I said to Hetty. She was
solid as a rock, and replied, 'It
don't mean nothing until you
get there.' Or maybe she said,
'It won't mean nothing if we
never get there.' Either way, it
was pithy and curt.
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