By J Jack Unrau
The second thing I saw when I woke up was David Lynch holding his dick. I was lying in a ditch. My guts were in bad shape and the sun was high in the sky.
I rolled to a sitting position. The old guy, David Lynch, director of The Elephant Man, slowly massaged his thin grey member. He was watching me.
Maybe it wasn’t David Lynch. Maybe it was some other old guy. Was David Lynch even old?
This guy was skinny, like his flesh was sort of painted on to get his bones covered. His hair was in that tufty white style physicists made famous. He wore a blue cardigan and his checkerboard slacks hung down around his thighs.
I found my pack. There was a can of peaches inside and I needed something in my belly. While I slurped at my breakfast, he kept right on staring at me. I watched the road, hoping to catch a ride. This wasn’t a really well-traveled stretch. I shouldn’t have come this way. The only people prowling this zone were nude movie directors and hound-sized arachnids. It was time to leave.
“Hey.” I’d gotten about 30feet away when he said it. His pants were still undone, hand still in position. “You heading south?” His voice was thin, sort of wispy, like the breeze was pulling it apart. “I can take you down to the Gulf, if that’s your thing. I’ve got a car.” He used both his hands to gesture southwards. I took that as a good sign.
He was pointing at his truck. It was a big thing, monstrous and black. Very smooth. It was off and down the road, nestled amongst the tall grasses, lurking.
“If you could just do something for me first,” he said.
So that was how it was going to be.
I wanted to head South; I wanted my skin weather-beaten and my voice raspy like the engine of an old truck.
I went back. I knelt down and delivered a chaste little kiss to his white fuzzy balls. He put his big hard hands on the top of my head. He let out a groan and hit me just below my left eye. When I opened back up, my eyes were filled with the massive blue sky.
J Jack Unrau is from Winnipeg but his real home is the road. He currently works in a library where he had to stop telling stories to children. Check him out at thedubiousmonk.net.