A slight adjustment in this blog . I have a book on the go , a couple really but starting today and every Thursday I will posting excerpts from Two Souls. It is in rough draft and I am looking for feedback. Good bad or indifferent any comments are welcome as this is a learning project for me so critical feed back is welcome. I will see how it goes my goal is to finish it first after that who knows.
The first installment:
The sound of released air echoes across the dark lot. Brakes set in a cloud
of dust he finally lets the tension release and slumps in the seat. Looking
around inside the steel monster gives a surprising insight into what is
perceived as a rough hard trade. The interior of the Kenworth, spotless with
walnut dash and chromed gauges that look like they were plucked from a
Boeing 747. Leather interior, plush carpet and a living area in
the back that would not look out of place in any den in middle America.
Fridge , small but efficient , stereo system, satellite TV and a comfortable
bed. It seems completely out of place to an insider but this is the norm for
most long haul truck drivers. Tired eyes glance through the windshield across
a familiar scene. Fort Bridger Wyoming Truck Stops of America brightly lit
and beckoning as a place to fuel the beast and the man.
Not a pretty sight ,scrub brush and dried dirt, baked hills showing
the wear and tear of hot summers and harsh winters. He pulls the keys
and looks at the key fob. A small token from the dealer he bought this rig from.
I mean when you lay your ass on the line for a hundred and forty grand
a personalized key fob and a black leather jacket with Kenworth
stitched across the back and James Hylton on the front is small comfort
against the pressures that come with it.
His eyes reflect a sadness from little sleep and to many miles. They also
show , if you look deep the soul of a man whose life on the road has become
one he questions. A constant but small nagging questions from his very
depths. His face a face of someone who seen a lot weathered with a
hard look but there is a softness there that he hides well.
Those dark eyes don’t reveal much to the casual observer. With a grunt
he removes his slippers and wiggles on a pair of old battered Tony Llamas.
This is his home even if it is on eighteen wheels and he was taught as a child
you never wore your boots in the house. Hence the slippers he drove in.
There is paperwork to do , log books for the man , and the
books for the truck so he can keep track of the business for that’s
what it is. A business and his life but that can wait for the lights beckon and
his body needs sustenance. Books and sleep will wait while he fills himself
and flirts with the waitress , a little human contact keeps him sane. Out the
door he lowers his lanky frame to ground level looks
around and then takes a casual walk around the rig , maybe a kick
of a tire as he goes. Satisfied all is relatively normal after 700 miles across
the broken asphalt of the lot his
boots kick up a dust storm, cigarette smoke wisping into the air.
Dusk is sort of eerie as usual out here. The familiar smells of diesel , oil ,
and exhaust follow him to the door.
Moonlight In January
1 hour ago