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

Old Guy keeps on smiling.
He stands and cinches his robe.
Roy was right.
It is a rope.
A rope with a noose tied in it.
The gun slips into a pocket.
“Be right back.”
As if Roy’s going somewhere.
He watches his captor step into the adjoining room, where he
switches on a light.
The room the light reveals is mostly occupied by a bed. It
is a neatly-made bed with a colorful hand-stitched patchwork
counterpane. Bookshelves stand between two doors along the
far wall. Old Guy opens one of the doors and switches on a
light. He kneels before a small refrigerator. While he rummages
inside, Roy’s eyes stray back to the bedroom.
The bed rests on an animal-skin rug. On the wall above the
iron pipe headboard is a gun rack. In the gun rack are a bow, a
quiver of arrows, and a rifle like the kind cowboys used to have.
Hanging on another wall is what looks like a giant wooden bong
with feathers attached. The bookshelf is full of all kinds of shit.
A bunch of long, feathered spears lean against one corner.
Old Guy is coming back.
He’s carrying two of the biggest glasses of milk Roy’s ever
seen.
They keep getting bigger, the closer he comes.
The pearl handle of his gun sticks out of his robe pocket.
“Here ya go, pardner.”
He hands a vat of milk to Roy.
Then he goes back and switches off the bedroom lights.
Apparently, he likes his place dark.
He also likes his chair.
“Stand up. Switch chairs with me.”
Roy does as he’s told.
Sometimes, when Roy holds in his pee, he gets gas.
He has that now.
Focused on keeping two very personal things inside, he
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY 1