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

And leads him to a far-off, seldom visited region of the store.
The sign above this far-off region reads:
COUNTRY WESTERN
Roy’s brain sends his face a signal of confusion.
“Here you go, man.”
Smiling Guy flips through the CDs filed under S.
Roy hates Country Western.
It’s not even music, as far as he’s concerned.
Why would they put the Sons here?
“These are all we have.”
The way Smiling Guy says this sounds to Roy like these not
only are all they have, but all they will ever have, and that having
them in the first place was just this huge mistake.
“Peace.”
Smiling Guy takes his solid-gold smile elsewhere.
Roy’s soft belly presses against the CD cabinet.
His hands fidget with anticipation.
And then it hits him.
A thought he had not thought to think before now.
And the thought that bruises his exultant mood is this—: he
doesn’t own a CD player.
He couldn’t listen to these CDs if he wanted to.
And he wants to. Very much.
Very much, indeed.
Roy’s brain, naturally lackluster, now hung over, fuzzes and
fills with white noise. The blood in his face drains away, leaving
him ashen and gray.
It takes a while, standing alone in this far-off region of the
store—feeling as if there is a bull’s eye painted on the back
of his head—but, eventually, Roy’s brain figures out it has
three options: it can (a) make its body walk out empty-handed,
(b) stimulate its body’s vocal cords to inquire of the smiling
pincushion if he has the Sons in tape format, or (c) cause its body
to buy a CD player and join the crowd.
There may even be a fourth or fifth option, but if so Roy’s
brain has no idea what these are.
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY 211