Shuttle Ride

The rain in the east looks like wet fire scortching the dry Arizona landscape. Giving life and death to the area. Life would come and sins taken in an afternoon.  As fast as it came it left.

The west was covered in sun, driving area madder. At 116, maddness was the only thing happened to the area. It was to hot to do anything else. It was a minor minor miracle that death hadn’t claimed everyone in the area.

We headed away from the rain in the east and towards the sun that left it’s maddening heat behind to torture ius all. There wasn’t any evidence that the crowd rushing to Phoenix were trying pass quickly as possible through the city.

Pauly Shore look-a-like with a pink trucker’s cap with Jesus spinning records on it was gabbing about something to the driver, Thresa, and the other kid was going home to visit his parents. It used to be home, but it long lost that feeling.

(It was about Jesus. I learned this when I took my heads phones off)

An old married couple behind me had their entire conversation in silence. Fifty year together and you could guess the conversation. The woman talking and the man trying not to say anything agreeing to everything. In his head he was talking and she was listening, going on about what she wanted to talk about.

All of us in thos shuttle. Heading to the airport on part of a destination that leads to a larger story. Some head out to see their parents recapture a sense of support. Others go home away from the heat, away from this harsh foreign place. All inside a shuttle that was made from the skin of George Hamilton.

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