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

Pete nudges.
Holds out the joint.
Such a nice man.
“Zowie, huh?”
A cone of thoughtful, throatful smoke escapes his lips.
Roy daintily accepts the smoldering offering.
He is able to manage a seminal smile, a nominal nod.
Eyes slitted against its acrid fumes, he sucks down more of the
magical smoke. In the background, a man sings—
He rode a blazing saddle
He wore a shining star
His job to offer battle
To bad men near and far—
Pete is already laughing. He laughs with the glee of a child.
Roy can’t help himself—he stares at Pete who stares at the
TV with the glee of a child. For such an old guy, you would have
thought he didn’t have any child left inside, gleeful or otherwise.
Roy doesn’t feel like he has a child hidden somewhere inside. If
he does, it’s hugging its knees to its chest and rocking on its ass
in a dark corner. But this old guy seems like he’s happy with life
and all the shit that’s befallen him lo his many, many, many—
how many?—years.
Roy wonders how old his new really old friend really is if he
really is his new really old friend or if he really is a new old really
friend or if—
He conquered fear and he conquered hate
He turned our light into day
He made his blazing saddle
A torch to light our way—
“Only Mel Brooks could get away with shit like this.”
Roy pulls himself away from his study of the gleeful Pete—
laughing, snorting, cavorting Pete—and stares back into the blue
tube.
He can’t feel his lips.
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY 2 1