Hafford IV: Clint Eastwood

I ran down the gravel road that takes you past the Cassidy farm. This was on Thursday, when the sun was hot and I was restless after a morning of Clint Eastwood movies. Firefox, In the Line of Fire, Play Misty for Me.

I ran as fast as I could for as long as I could. Then, when I could hardly breathe for the pain in my side, I wandered into a little group of poplar trees.

I sat down and pulled a small joint out of my wallet. Breathing hard, I lit it. I leaned against a tree and inhaled 'till I couldn't hold my breath any longer. Jesus. I felt the warmth move across my arms and legs. Still catching my breath. Another puff. I laid down and watched the wispy clouds above the treetops. I concentrated on breathing deep.

In.

Out.

In.

Hold it.

Hold it.

Out.

Whew.

In ten minutes I had melted. I stretched my arms behind my back and hugged the tree. I squeezed as tight as I could. I was a lunatic.

"I know you hate me," I muttered at the bark. "And that's good, 'cos that's how it is."

A black pickup truck roared past me on the gravel road, just out of view. A wave of gray dust filled the air. I sat back and let the sound fade and the haze settle.

I woke up two hours later, still stoned, and slowly walked back into town. I threw in Any Which Way You Can and barbecued myself a hamburger.

Tomorrow is the high school graduation.