Through the dark and dusty tunnel the lonesome rider rides. The cobwebs of his mind get blown away and dies.
He starts the endless climb of stairs through toil and troubled times. Sleeping dogs and rusty art laying in the morning sun. He buys a cup of coffee for a dime.
Makeshift homes that seem held together with rusty nails and duck tape. Perhaps with a helping of love. Copper building blocks with the shells of roaches embedded into the scorched framework of time.
He finds an old vintage store that seems to be a portal to another aura of space. The old woman at the counter seems real enough, at least as real as any of us are, he supposes.
He purchases a few old signs for his garage back home, then goes back outside and finds the highest rock in town to climb.
Waiting out his time in the sun of Southern Arizona. The rattle of the serpents tail calls out to him more than ever now.
It won’t be long now.
