Wednesday, February 8, 2012

These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... What Whitey Does

Sometime it get real quiet in there. Sky-ponies settle down durin' hot part a day. Got air-conditioning, but not much. Ponies be tetchy that way. And Bart don't want 'em to catch nothin'. Whitey don't care. He like it it like that. Keep all them Texaco shit-heads in the big house. They prob'ly settin' 'round that kitchen table chewin' on cold brisket and slurpin' up lemonade. Maybe they eye ballin' a sweet taiter pie for 'afters.' Let 'em choke. Whitey don't care. Maybe not that little Davey. But the rest of 'em can crawl into a dead-box and stay put. That what he think. That what Whitey say. 

This his 'town day.' This when he go into Barsoom and have himself some private time. Sometime private mean hootchies. Sometime it mean playin' cards. Sometime it mean eatin' Eye-talian shit and he like the good shit. He know the difference too. 

He already called the big house. One a them cops picked up. Told him about his 'town day' and ast if it was alright with ev'ybody if he took off for a few hours. Cop turns to Bart and says - That the regular thing 'round here?....... Bart say - Yes, it is. That what we do........ Cop think for a minute. Then little Davey pipe up and say - Hey, Whitey, you gonna bring me back my fudge?.......... Whitey say - Sure, little cow poke. What kind you want me to get?........ Kid think for a while, then say - Get me the peanut butter. Yeah, get me the peanut butter and some a that 'hoopdy-doo' chocolate, OK?......... Ev'ybody smile. Feel good a see little bit a happiness 'round here, considerin' Alec's body still festerin (as far as they know) somewhere 'tween here and the El Plano line. Alec's two kids don't say nothin'.  Just set there chawin' on they cold brisket. (It tender 'nuff. But they had better.) Their maw 'bout  to bust them the hell up. Not the kids. Her in-laws, I mean. She hate Miss Sissie. She Hate Mister Hobart. She hate Miz India too. But she got a 'rattle snake' hate for her brother-in-law. She got a ole fashion 'bullet-in-a-haid' kind a hate for him. And Zeb knowed it. But they just set there, lookin' all nice and family-like for that cop. Second later, somebody switch off that screen and Whitey jus' go off on his way. Little finger-vial commencin' to irritate the innards a his ass a bit. I mean he only pop it out for shit time. But soon he not gonna worry 'bout that at all. Soon his ass innards gonna be all better. He fixin' to show Alec's finger to that book writin' goomer.  That guy smart. That guy know stuff. He gonna make money off this. He know. 

So Whitey take hisself down to the road (other cops see him, but they don't mind. folks in the big house already call down) and stand there, waitin' for the bus. Five minute later, it pull up. Big, ole tank-bus, full a wide-eyed, silent Tuva-Tuvas (mostly females) gone off to see kin folk 'keepin' house' in the city. Couple other ranch hands on board too. He knowed one a them from the Walgreen. Feller nod to him. Whitey nod back. Then he settle his sore hind parts down on a vacant seat and 'tend he sleepin'. That what ranch hands mostly  do.

Little Tuva-Tuva boy settin' 'cross from him start snappin' a baby chupicabra skull his way. But Whitey don't care. Oh, he can see it all from out under his hat. But he don't mind, 'cause he fixated on money  he ain't got yet.

Ninety minute later, bus pull into a 'three t-shirt' red hot day. City can be like that. And Whitey already sweat hisself through the first one.....


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