| OCR Text |
Show Nobody on this old road. You got to walk fast to stay warm. Tickle that bottle with your tongue, but not too often. If you fall on a night like this, you fall for good. Musta been about two hours, nobody passing, not even the cop on this stretch. He's probably up the canyon, parked, sipping a beer, picking up Albuquerque on the radio, heater turned up high. Almost home. Off the pavement, old road too dusty to freeze, adobes low and heavy like sleeping cows. Like my old woman. Hup- here's the door, slow down, look out for the creak, close it quiet, tiptoe to the kitchen, put the wine under the sink. . .clink. Whoops. "Roscoe-- you come home? Come to bed, you drunk. I'll cuss you out tomorrow." |
