fishbeer

May 1 2011 5:00 pm

Luther with a dead battery

Steve showed me a hundred miles of bad road, four creeks, and the rolling hills of north central Michigan.  This is not a metaphor you sick fucks.  There were a few small towns along the way and near one of them the Exploder wouldn’t start so Steve wiggled some wires and did something with a screwdriver and told me to crank ‘er again so I did and she started.  

 

I used to think I was going insane when I heard the drumming of a ruffed grouse in the woods.  I thought the sound was coming from inside me. It’s very hard to describe this sound.  It’s muted and indistinct, you’re not sure if you’re hearing it or how, yet you can feel it in your chest.  Whither should I travel to lay mine eyes on said bird?  

 

Then, when I thought I couldn’t get any more meta, I’m rowing hard in the highest water I’ve ever seen on the PM.  I mean, shit’s in the woods.  I could have shortcut through the goddamn woods.  So I’m rowing hard and I probably metabolize some fat and probably one bit of that fat has some errant LSD or psilocybin molecules in it because that’s where I heard it’s stored and my arms are burning and some of those molecules are released and they travel to my brain and make me briefly hallucinate the sound of a ruffed grouse drumming.  Though it was just an actual ruffed grouse drumming.  Faux bits lust for practical muff doused diving.  

 

I’m going to make steak tacos tonight with extra sour cream.  Don't fucking doubt it.  Book a trip with me. 

 

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