Twice Born A Vagabond
A Novel [Copr. 2008]
By D. DeWitt Thomas
"Yep, it all depends on the circumstances," he said. "There are always two sides to every story," I added. "Yessir," he agreed. We rocked somemore musing over our philosophical insight. Unknowingly, he had described my situation. I had been through an harrowing experience that he knew nothing about but maybe he just sensed it. Even so as we spoke the sun was making its way behind the clouds and dusk began to set in. The sky took on an orange striated hue paralleling the horizon. Later, Mrs. Erickson pulled her car into the gravel driveway leading up to the farm house just as nightfall approached. Just as I had slipped inside there house, I left the old man and his wrinkled wife behind at home full of the memories of the experiences that shaped their lives on their dusty ranch in the hill country, rocking peacefully on their creaky wooden front porch in their favorite paint chipped rocking chairs to watch the sun go down one more time together.
Arriving in Austin that evening, Roky's mother offered the use of her shower to freshen up which I quickly accepted. I made a few calls to the various hippie abodes to hear of any rumors which may be circulating about todays events. The latest developements concerning the bust came in the form of a visit from the Sheriff. A warrant had been issued for my arrest as a result of the enforcers finding my wallet in the hunting cabin where they also found a few ounces of an herbal substance of the smoking variety. It was time to get out of Travis County. I called two friends in Houston, Max and George, to ask them if they could come and get me.
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