to see a man about a horse…

the bastard is sad tonight.

and it's not because he lives in a van down by the river.

you see, it's about the past.

it's about my past.

the wife had asked me to make a run to the garage in the fhillz to pick up some stuff and to get some stuff for the house.

and when I turned down the wrong block I saw it was gone.

the stable.

the stable where I learned to ride horses.

the stable where I learned about community.

the stable where I learned to jump.

learned to respect creatures greater than myself.

where I broke my nose into 11 pieces.

where I met my people.

where I rode on tuesday nights in the summer coming back in the dark only by the good grace of an animal who knew the way.

then we drank into the night and swapped stories.

talked the craik.

learned about the land on my forebears.

learned to let people's shortcomings go by the wayside.

and most importantly, learned that I felt the most free when the wind was blowing in my face.

and alot of other things that I could never possibly remember because this is what time does to a man.

it robs you of your past.

now all that's there is a fucking sidewalk and some scaffolding.

and all I have is a broken nose to remind me that the barn was there.

thanks for the wind. thanks oh so very much.

the bastard never took it for granted for it was the greatest gift I ever received.

—the bastard