Sleep-wakers

Solely I cannot imagine that I reshaped his honkey-ass life; though inevitably I had to like Roy - a crazy lone bird, a motherfucker I’d say who had a boner for his gun rack of shot guns, pistols, and this one 45 that he just got on a hotass day he would go, “of course it aint loaded, ya dipshit. Watch!” then click-bang! went incredible in its silences as the thing rammed against my temple \ destroyed the piss near out of me.

I am here figuring out just how awry accuracy goes when unknown into wherever Roy’s turn for heroism shouldered me, or should I say, nudged, then turned things around, bumped fate like I knew the fucker in the way I did, but not like I liked him too much and his weird shit he always thought clever; like this gayass crap he pulled. Yet ridiculous and jealous, “why didn’t you get ahold of some pussie Carlos? You know I’d hang all night up in some. All you got to do is call em. I aint had shit else to do out here but work on the goddamn Z….” this one night when Roy would blast off this six shooter, unannounced and absently into my shitbrains and maybe had pulled the thing out of the darkness and sheer oblivion to unveil in his Camaro; not from the busted sucks of the glovebox, but with all the past so safely unchangeable and falling into place instantly behind them congruent forms we ripped apart as the future only knows immediately down country roads; oh how far and how long at last but he looked at me with his hair like Lynyrd Skynyrd’s, Roy gawked from in the speeding ride and untucked the thing from his jeans like it was a giant cock the way they do in them fuck movies we’d always sit around and watch like it was Wheel of Fortune or some dumbass sit-com re-run; yea, from beyond places his hand smelled like and then he leveled the thing squarely at me with this grin and asked, "What you think peckerhead? Wanna know what feels like luck?."