hope & umbrage

I just want to move on this one, to clear for town with nothing in my way but black open road. Oh, weary traveler, step into my sanctuary. Let me take you to your lonesome home.

But no! You're a Brentwood bugger! A smug bastard in your bloody, blasted Brentwood bungalo, waterfront at that! You're rich! You cheat, you scoundrel, you mock my earnest effort, my patient waiting. I carried your bag! I endured stultifying small talk! Begone wretched traveler, leave me to drive this twisted path.

I will go drown my sorrow and swallow my bile. I will erase your sin etched against my dripping heart. All I asked was that we go South. You chose West. A pox on you, carrier of baggage, dweller in Brentwood.

But no, I will not go yet to sit in chic, sombre rooms, to drink the grapes of France, the malts of Scottland. Instead I return to waiting for my chance at freedom, for another soul to join my company and direct my hands and body.

I just want to move on this one, to clear for town with nothing in my way but black open road.

-- Post From Taxi