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

to the right of his navel, and beneath the outcrop of his slightly
bulging belly.
He rolls an exposed thumb along the knurled edge of the
volume control wheel, and really loud droogy shit enters into his
head.
Gone are the honks and the sirens and the jackhammers
and the snippets of migrating cellphone conversations; gone is
the Outside World in all its reputed glory, implicated past and
forbidding future; gone is the daily business report; gone is NPR;
gone is the Bon Marché; gone are the loathed, the loaded and the
lame; gone is any reason to get up and go; gone is God and gone
is war and gone are politics—gone, gone, gone.
And gone is Roy’s unhappiness.
Not that he is all that unhappy, not really. Roy is not a
melancholic, not an alcoholic, not a dependant, needy man.
He has never really believed he would know what love is, so he
doesn’t miss it. He has never made a fortune, not even come
close, never actually tried, so that’s something else he doesn’t
miss. His parents abandoned him and his Brother the Asshole so
long ago all he remembers about them is their boozy breaths, so
he’s got that going for him. It was the metaphysical poet, John
Donne, who once wrote (in Meditation XVII) that, No man is an
island, entire of itself.
But, then, he had never met Roy.
Roy pushes open the door and enters the Wailing Wall.
Because Roy’s headphones are filled with the brass crashings
of Zildjian cymbals and hissing hi-hats, the seagull skirl of
Stratocasters, the repetitive Les Paul baselines and earthen
thrum of Ludwig drums, he doesn’t hear the little bells ting-a-ling
above his head as he enters.
ting-a-ling ting-a-ling
He has, in fact, never heard these bells, is, in fact, unaware
of their existence, since his head is always filled with really loud
droogy shit.
Not that the bells mind. They’re just doing their job.
In many lands and in many times, the ringing of bells has
been considered a sacred act, their tinkling taken as efficient
means to drive away evil spirits and demons.
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY