Empty landscape

Empty landscape

The winds roar and whoosh like the voices of the native Americans cleared or killed off to provide this cornscape for the poor white farmers. Tax free five years, free land gives. The military got to profit too. Payed to clear out the human animals who had been herded here from richer lands just a few years before.

There's Grandpa at the barber shop chatting with the locals. Chedder Hollins is next to him. They talk about the weather. About the new Soda shoppe in the city some 24 miles west. Chedder went there last weekend. He said he felt so pepped after trying a drought of strawberry Murple soda. Tasted like rat poison and burned corn. But he says he felt warm and soft and heavy. Happy and peaceful. But as he drank more of the stuff he began to feel energized. The hairs on the back of his head stood up. He liked it. He danced all night and spent all his money.

The winds roar.

Strange scents in the wind. The scents are incense from a secret tribe. They are still here, but not here. A nearby dimension. Still returning for rituals and to breeze the air of the land of birth.

Chedder Hollins

Chedder Hollins stands in front of a big crude wooden plank fence. He tells a stupid racist Indian joke and a plank from the fence slams up into his ass. He squelches in pain. Long splinters are embedded. He laugh at the wide eyed comical eye out of water look of pain on his face....

Party on and around the porch

Midnight shines with a yellow orange moon. Jugs are all about most of them empty.