Well our story resumes as we are headed south on 50 east, I just waved at Suzy and I'm still hanging on the back of the truck by my arm pits clutching the knife and a handful of asparagus. and praying the tailgate wonn't releases on its own and splat me on the asphalt.
My lungs are burning, my charlie horses are training for Churchill downs and a death grip on the bunch of baby sprouts. I think if can get my foot on the ball and struggle into the back of the truck I can get in the door and home safe.
As I get in the back, (of course it is full of treasures that I might need for my next job )I stand up and head for the front. Just as I stand up,the truck hits the only chuck hole in the mile and throws me off balance and my foot goes through the gusset on the metal racks that I haul metal on the side of my truck with and the spare tire wedges it to the max. Now all I have to do is get the spare tire off the carrier and get my foot out and get to the front of bed. I try to bend down but I have to many Dr peppers between me and the trap.
I finally break loose and lunge to the tool box and as I lay on the toolbox that car honks as it pulled up behind us and rolls down there window and asks "are you Mr. fisher." and I smiled and pointed north and said he lives back about a mile and half.
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4 comments:
Daddy-o, you are one heck of a yarn spinner. Crackin' me up! I particularly like the part about your charlie horses and Mr. Fisher. Is this what your brain comes up with when you're out working all day?
I think this story is greatly improving your writing. There are more official sentence with capital letters and periods than ever before. Good job.
Thanks for leaving us hanging.
HAHA! Wow, wow, wow -- how I wish I could have been there to see this! It's a great idea for a short movie and I can only imagine what a good laugh your witnesses had!
Mr. Fisher? Is he any relation to Anal Fissure who lays on tool boxes?
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