V. I’VE SEEN THIS MANY CHEVYS BEFORE

So I’m standing outside of the house by myself and I’m looking to the right of the house, where there’s the freight yard, all rotted thorough and empty. I never really think about the freight yard until its being there gets me pissed off, like when a car rolls through latenight and blows its whistle and wakes me up. When that happens its always like I just hit my head on something, like when a guy in a movie gets woken up real fast and sits up in bed but something is there that just waps him in the dome.

But sometimes I’ll watch a train go by for a little while, but they just keep going forever and you get tired of looking at all of the cars. After you sit there for a while watching its just like, “What the fuck am I even looking at?” So you just sort of go look at something else and the train goes on wherever it’s going to next, which is, no doubt, a place pretty much the same as this one.

And then I’m looking to the left side of the house and there’s the woods. People say that they’re my woods when they talk about them. I don’t want to say they’re mine, they belong to my family though. They’ve been on our property since my great great great grand whatevers moved here, so that means that they’re ours.

But I’m not happy that people say that the woods are mine. Those woods are creepy as shit. It is a place of windy whispers; it is a place I never go. I imagine bad shit in there, shitty ruined stuff with haunting ghosts and unknowns, or just forgotten rusty things, shit covered in mold with squirmy grubs on the undersides.

So there I am out there in the universe, in the driveway, looking somewhere or throwing rocks at other rocks, when all the dudes start coming up in the trucks. And its just like, “Aw right, here they come.”

The dudes are always so excited to come rolling up the driveway; the dudes pump their fists out the window, if the dude is sitting in the passenger seat he’ll lean way out of the window and make the extreme face with the tongue out flailing crazy. What’s there to get excited about?

Well, I don’t know, there is plenty of time for certain kinds of imagination in these kinds of places where its green and bugs are buzzing gentle. So if a dude wants to stick his tongue out and shake his head while he’s coming up a driveway, that’s just fine.

And it really is pretty green out here. And that’s really nice, because usually New Hampshire isn’t as green as the rest of New England. New England is one of the greenest places of all time, I might guess. But New Hampshire has something else about it, like a weight that doesn’t let the real green come out like it does in Vermont or Maine; in New Hampshire it might seem kind of green but there’s always a kind of husky dustiness hanging over it, like someone just sneezed red dust over everything.

But around now all these flowers are peeking around in the grass and the sky is the romance-movie sweet ‘lilac’; a color that sad men drown themselves under and a color that I usually wouldn’t describe anything as in most cases, but it fit this time.

These good old clouds were hanging around in some places here and there. They were the clouds that go from blue-purple to a wise old sleepy blue, they stretched out past down past the tops of the trees in the woods.

The woods got some of the sky’s purple and a sort of hazy shine, like a dark moth’s wing. And the woods are still creepy but its all alright, like picturesque, the air feels full and moist and here come the dudes.

Ya, here come the dudes. Someone always tries to get cool and peel out in the dirt so I’m standing there and I hear whatever guy’s extreme noise like ‘whoop’ and then the sands of five hundred generations of bullshit billow up and get all in my eyes and nose.