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

Her big eyes shimmer.
“Sh. He might hear you.”
With a baleful glare, the dustered gent accedes to his
inamorata’s desire (and gratefully, too; for, a child of alcoholics,
he also hates conflicts and confrontations). They squeak their
palsied cart to other parts of the brilliantly-lighted store with
the hope and expectation that, soon, in a little while, when they
return to the broccoli bin, the big, balding, smelly man with
headphones on his ears will be gone.
The zucchini, Roy, the zucchini.
The Lasagna whispers his name.
He looks at the contents of his basket. He has everything he
needs, except the zucchini.
The zucchini, Roy, the zucchini.
With a mighty effort, he selects two of the green, slender
squash, despite their proximity to broccoli.
Down at the end of the aisle, the young couple hover. They
appear to be perusing the ingredients of Spaetzle but are, in fact,
perusing Roy.
As soon as Roy selects his two zucchini and carts them away,
they squeak their borrowed Safeway wagon along the aisle,
flashy shoes clicking on terrazzo, Spaetzle mix carelessly shelved
among boxes of Jell-O.
At the checkout stand Roy is next after an old, overweight
woman with a wattle, her blued hair tucked inside a furry pillbox
hat. The old, overweight woman with a wattle and blued hair is
writing a check. Roy watches her fingers that hold the pen that
writes the check. It has been a long time since she applied a fresh
coat of red polish to her nails.
The checkout girl—her tag says Robyn/Supervisor—yaps a
mile a minute to Old Blue Hair. Meanwhile, the bagger—an
even older woman with missing teeth and massive wrinkles—
watches and waits, groceries bagged and settled in the cart.
Watches and waits for the check to get written and ripped from
its book so she can chirrup an offer to Old Blue Hair to help her
waddle out to her car.
Robyn’s darting aqua eyes encounter Roy’s existence and
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY