volume one IN THE D U D L E Y C L A R K - Ohio Vine Tours

ROY’S EYES POP OPEN.
He had been dreaming of a time when the OK Hotel had
been cool, back before they served booze, and this band was
playing there, only it wasn’t a band that ever really played
there, but the one that was in his dream, the one that he was
in—himself on lead guitar, J.J. on drums, Rick on bass and Mel
naked except for a pink boa he fibrillated between his hairy legs
while belting out Suzie Quattro songs.
The audience was a bunch of punked-out dwarfs with potato
guns they kept shooting, aiming for their eyes.
Roy blinks his freshly popped-opened eyes.
Eyes crusted with sleep.
He had not stirred once all night long.
He squeezes his thighs together.
He needs to pee.
He sits up in his deeply-fissured clothes.
His room is frigid, his body stiff.
And he really needs to pee.
He drops the two heavy weights that are his big, booted feet
onto the floor.
thunk followed by thunk
He wonders what time it is. Not that it matters. Not that he
really cares. Does a wrist of his sport a digital watch? Roy is no
Yuppie Scum, always hurrying somewhere, eyes bulging, tearing
out his hair.
Roy has no hair to tear.
Still, sometimes he wonders what time it is.
The puddle that formed beneath his dripping raincoat had
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY 111