Dry Rot.

Mid July summer heat haze over the blacktop twists visions from the uncomfortable landscape of slowly expiring trees and cooking grass.
Early morning is fuel-rich exhaust and boiled sap, sleeping hornets, soap, and dew dampened dust.
Mid-day is enveloping darkness and the damp concrete smell of warm stale swamp cooler.
Sweaty men with their anger, apathy, melancholy and desperation.
Rail thin leather skinned ladies with sagging tube tops, stale tobacco, hard use and 90 proof breath.
Late afternoon tastes like paving tar and creosote timbers, warm beer and a slow harmonica solo.
Evening is nostalgia, crank case oil, forgotten laundry on the line, constant sickly chatter of the oscillating fan.


Restless.