NOT HAVING ANY ABRACADABRA
Much like not having a shirt in Winter,
the skin grows cold and the magic is
gone. Lemon juice, in a fluted bottle,
doesn't add a thing. It's like that here:
a donut cafe in some side-blown town
between here and there; making me feel
like Rod Serling again. Over the hilltop
comes a stagecoach from 1881, and it
stops at what is now a gas station nearby.
-
I've been watching the whole thing develop,
but the rest of the people suddenly all look
up together. The little kid shouts out: 'Mommy,
will you look at that! What is that thing?' The
mother gasps, but the old guy one over, with
the cigar, he scoffs. 'Some gold-durned movie
extras running off with a prop, I'd bet. They
sometimes film westerns out here. What'd
they stop at a damned gas station for?'
-
The guy stepping down from the wagon looks
lost, and that's for sure. He's all dusty and dirty,
and carries a rifle too. Going over to the attendant,
h asks 'Where's Lennox? Is this Lennox?' The
kid says, 'Lennox? Mr. What's wrong with you.
Lennox was a ghost town over there, 30 years
ago they blew it all down. You better not get
seen with that rifle; Sheriff for this county is
a mean sumbitch.'
-
'They walk inside, one following the other, and
the wagon guy acting all befuddled and mad.
All I hear is a tussle, and then a scream, and
then a shot rings out. The attendant comes
running back out, all fired up. 'Is there a
doctor around here? We need a doctor!
And quick!'
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