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Rain on the Road

Inside his head a distant thunderclap brought him back to the world.  Sleep had slipped up behind him and taken him for a short ride.  The urge was clear.  Pee.  Now.  Getting up was uncomfortable.  Should have gone earlier.  Standing on the bank he knew he couldn’t pee in or around the water because it was just wrong, three weeks of sleeping bags, oatmeal and jerky had helped drum that one in.  Scanning about he can’t see a helpful soda or water bottle.  Trash just wasn’t there.  “No garbage, no people,” his father’s voice said in his head, if that was true then this was truly nowhere.  The trees were a possible target but felt wrong too.  Looking at the packed gravel road he realizes he can get off the creek’s watershed if he just drained the hose there.

The problem wasn’t a shy bladder because no one was around.  Problem was he’d been holding it a long, long time.  Relaxing enough to get started took closed eyes and forced thoughts and a good minute.  Standing there with his wick in his hand random thoughts wandered through his mind.  Anchor-less thoughts about high school or birthdays or the crash; a wind whipped, nonsensical circus parade.  The dog he hit in the early dawn hours with his mother’s car he wasn’t supposed to be driving.  Nikki J in a red prom dress.  Mowing the lawn.  His father’s lawyer.  Waking up behind the 7/11.  The fallen apple tree in Grandpa’s backyard.  A college dorm room.  Things began to flow.  A third grade water color.  Baseball dugout both empty and full.  Compound fracture, big toe.  Tattooed knuckles up close, very close.

The flow of urine petered out.  How strange, he thought, standing in the middle of nowhere with a motorcycle and his dick in his hand.  He realized that like everything else he’d pissed away–the sun would bake it dry and the wind would whip it away.

About Brent Crash Allen

I Forgot, now you forget

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