In a parallel universe I would be a lawyer or possible a preacher

You ever have one of those days when you wake up… It’s not just that you’ve awaken though it’s already an interesting start, but you feel that if you move you’d be further expanding your limited threshold of pain. On top of all that you just know the damn sun is out and if you open your eyes your head is bound to split in two… I know what you are thinking but really it is not my fault, I only meant to drink on a fifth of Jim Bean it’s not my problem people kept handing me money for another.
I guess I might as well start the day though there’s not much to do right now aside from rolling up a smoke, reading a little, or playing some game boy (yes a game boy screw your D S or whatever). Not really anywhere one can go when speeding at least fifty miles per hour on a hunk of limitless metal. Though now that I have opened my eyes I’m under the distinct impression that if I’m to be going east the sun should not be where it is located. Great…
You know what it is like when you drive down the wrong highway and there is no turning around until you get to that exit that is a good twenty miles down the fucking road? Well this is kind of that feeling only you can’t turn a train around you have to wait until it stops…. in the next damn state.
Well you can only imagine how I feel at this point hung-over and going back to Atlanta. Worse part of all is that I was just escorted out of this wonderfully horrible train yard not even a week ago. Damn you Jim Bean… Or maybe it was Jacks fault either way this is not going to be pretty.
“You know this is state property, don’t cha?” Now you have to be really hung over to sleep through a train stopping, especially being on said train. So you must understand my shocking surprise at getting woken up by the Bull (for those who don’t know Bulls are train cops). Hung over and smartass that I am I often don’t think before I speak. “OH shit this isn’t greyhound.” Yep the situations we get ourselves in. Good thing my bag was packed nothing out.
While this Bull is more than likely contemplating my fate I do the only rational thing any person would do. I throw my bag over the opposite side of the train and haul ass about six cars up then climb up another train and bound down the side of it. Fortunately, I’m in a very large train yard, Atlanta being a big city and all lots of import and export going on, so I have ample opportunity to run, jump, hell skip if I want to. All I have to do is get off train track property before the Bull catches me.
After hopping over and about ten more trains I finally make it to the edge of the yard. Lucky me there’s no fence to further my hindered alcohol demanding body. (Damn You Jim Beam) As I step off of railroad property a rather unhappy thought manages to push its way into my slightly clouded mind. I’m going to have to hitchhike. Just fucking splendid!
As I walk the seven miles it takes to get to I-10 I kept telling myself hitchhiking is better than going back to the train yard getting recognized and jailed. By the fifth mile I think I’ve just about walked this hangover off. As I see the interstate not far at all I realize my hangover is still going strong and I stop to live up to my name.
Like all interstate exits there are these Golden Arches that keep America going. Truly I hate eating at McDonalds but when your hungry and poor, what can you do? As I make my way over to the dumpster my stomach and I get into a slight disagreement and once again I live up to my name. Fuck It I am going in the dumpster.
“WAHOO” a McChicken with only one bite taken out of it, score, and you know it is fresh because it’s on top. “Thank You citizens for your waste” a motto I almost always say before eating from Americas limitless buffet. As me and the sandwich make our way to a nicer more romantic setting to dine, I notice what can only be a rubber tramp car (a rubber tramp being a person who lives out of their car and travels). As I peer in I notice a stand up bass and a banjo, I think I’m going to like these people.
I stay near their car waiting for them to come out of McDonalds but at the same time trying not to look like a creepy stalker. As a larger man with a grey beard and a not so young but not so old woman walk out I know that they’re the owners of the car. I of course do the street kid call “Oi” and in no time at all we are conversing of the road and different cities, I tell them of my horrid day from hang over to walking, but I do mention my luck with the sandwich which gets a few laughs.
Once we’ve talked for a while they introduce themselves as Turtle (being the man) and JuneBug. I of course introduce myself as Puke. As the conversation starts heading in the way of directions they ask where it is I am off to? I tell them I am on my way to Portland Maine. By Jove was I in luck they themselves were headed to Bar Harbor. So it was agreed upon that I was to ride with them all the way to Portland. Damn was I happy!
Three states away we stop in some small town near the Virginia border Turtle and JuneBug started playing their instruments near the front of a gas station for tips while I ran around with the gas can asking everyone filling their tanks if they could spare a little gas. In about an hour we were back on the road with a full tank of gas plus around fifty dollars! Not bad? Next stop the liquor store, then off to Maine.



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