14 July 2017

Highway To Steepleton Blues

Phone rang. It was Eddie from the fucking mill.

"Old Joe locked horns with somebody on the highway on the way home. Saw him bleeding pretty good from his head when me and Sunny crawled by the wreckage. He already had first aid helping him so we just kept going."

"Highway is a real fucking cunt these days," I complained.

I missed the bloody scene. Old Joe is too nice a guy and too supportive a union brother to deserve a dose of the highway's chaotic justice. I had stopped for a drink on the way home. Been doing that with only a book for company since I started Hubert Selby's "Last Exit To Brooklyn." Best union story ever it is.

About time I fucking retired to reading books and warming bar stools. Before the highway puts me in an early grave.

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