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

But I ask you please
Don’t fence me in—
He is helpless to prevent the escape of a satisfied sigh, to keep
from denting his face with a smile.
As the world around him bustles—asleep at the wheel,
pursuing its Yuppie Scum dreams—he, Roy Weston, long-time
resident of Seattle, standing at the intersection of Seventh and
Pine on a November afternoon, a day it isn’t raining, finds
himself transported to another realm and in a flash realizes he
is not one of them—the sheep, the cattle, the herd—those who
shuffle obediently off to slaughter.
No. Roy is a different sort of man.
Roy is—well. Roy is a cowboy.
Just turn me loose
Let me straddle my old saddle underneath the western skies
On my cayuse
Let me wander over yonder ’til I see the mountains rise
I
Want to ride to the ridge where the
West commences
Gaze at the moon until I lose my senses
I can’t look at hobbles and I can’t stand fences
Don’t fence me in!
click
His feet have delivered him to a logical destination.
He stands before a swank edifice.
Craning back his head, his watery blues fill with giant, red
letters:
BARNES & NOBLE
His smile muscles take a breather.
Loungers by nature, they appreciate the rest.
Suddenly, the street stands empty—it’s just Roy and the
renovated building.
Shadows lengthen.
A chill wind kicks up.
1 ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY