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

dread “—I told you to bring dessert. Dildo.” Rick shakes his
head in despair. “See what I put up with? I knew you’d fuck it
up, baldy.”
Mel, distrubed from his tryptophan trance, slides his eyes to
Roy. He delivers a smile meant to convey All is Forgiven.
“I want dessert,” bleats Rick. “What’s fuckin’ Thanksgiving
without fucking dessert?”
When Pete raises a hand in objection, Rick twists his face into
a snarl.
That same hand of Pete’s that demonstrated its objection
rummages about inside the fringed, spangled jacket. When said
hand emerges, it holds a plastic-wrapped object. This plasticwrapped
object, tossed, lands on the table before Rick.
Rick’s snarl ebbs and flows into a gape of amazement.
Before him rests a sizeable bag of pot.
In a flash, he snatches it up and unpeels it.
A pungent bouquet suffuses the room.
Rick, salivating, utters his very most favorite word, while
Jason, giggling girlishly, says,
“Fuckin’ A.”
Mel molds his features into a benignant smile.
“You may come to Christmas dinner also, Pete.”
Jason agrees.
“Fuckin’ A.”
Pete flips a box of EZ Widers onto the tablecloth.
It is barely landed—is, in fact, still moving—when Rick seizes
upon it and starts plucking out ricepaper sheets.
Guttering candles flicker in the passing drafts of time.
Mel inhales deeply, shakes himself awake, then stands and
utters a single, two-syllable word.
“Cognac.”
Afflicted by the stiffness of age, he rises and crosses the room
to a corner cabinet where he stands swaying a bit as he digs a
keyring from his pocket. A small key enters into the cabinet’s
ornamental lock and the dark, raised-panel door swings open
to reveal an array of bottles. Selecting a rotund one from his
collection, he re-locks the cabinet door and unstably returns to
the table.
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY 0