A real cornucopia has justice written all over it in the blood of your forebears.

A real cornucopia has justice written all over it in the blood of your forebears., originally uploaded by Doctor Eight.

So I said to her, "Look, a ride on Monday is out of the question. I have feelings. I don't fear much, but when I get feeling disenfranchised at all, forget about it, I'll run from the town to the other town, and over to the town I'm from."

She balked, in that smarmy way that I had gotten used to. Hissing and grunting, bubbling over - what a combo. I'd leave all my things at home if I had to deal with the ruckus, projecting feelings onto what was really, simple dialogue.

"Oh justify it," she said.

"I'm lazy, but I'm not rich. The last time, I got less than you, and I got half of what you got. I think I know what you're getting at. Just to show you how far I've come, here's the directions I've stolen." I point forward with my hand, "Follow up, make a right on my parent's country lane, and keep on driving until you nearly drift off. You'll come up on the grey pond, left after that. Make your way past the store, and face what's coming up on the horizon. Bear left. Pull in. There's parking in the back." I had made a twisting map in the air.

She got up and got down.

I continued, "You'll need this ticket. Don't be afraid to flash it like you don't give a good goddamn. You'll feel like all eyes are on you. They are. But everyone thinks that that means pack up your breakfast, hop back in the car and head back. No, no, no. Never give up when there's some time left. Can't say that's original. Not original."

By this time the sun was way up, and burning bright holes in everything. I couldn't tell if we were getting somewhere. We weren't arriving at any point. In the fair, dumpy ditch we had dropped most of the items we had brought for this showdown: a pad of recycled paper, eye drops, a polaroid camera, and a copy of a book. I had dropped a tube straight down, and it was stained with mud and small rocks.

"Cancelled," she exclaimed abruptly.

Whose nose was turned up on that day, and I had practically signed a contract and hopped on for this sad sad story.

"All right, I'm listening," I offered.

"You're fucking insane," barking now.

"I'm used to it. Your vulgarity is off and running. What are we going to focus on now? Here I am, about as calm as can be, because I've covered myself, I've covered my parents; No one's knocking on our door. Let's stop this for a moment. Brush off your face."

She pulled her face off.

"We're getting somewhere. My my, you are rational when feelings are at stake. I'm full of you. Plain as the night sky, you fuck."

"Replace it," I replied rather more dictatorially than I had thought possible, "I've had enough."

I thought it better that we finished the conversation next door, so I motioned to her to wheel me up the ramp and around the corner.

She sprouted as she spoke, "I knew it. Fancy comes as forward motion fakes it. You're a real asshole. A loveable type, but boy I could really read you your rights. Should we put us behind ourselves?"

Not answering, I started to shake my head this way and that, tapping my fingers like a metronome.

"Let's finish with a riddle you bastard," she said.

"I'm game."

"No, you're responsible for every bit of information."

"Okay, when can I start this new plan?" I asked.

Her fingers tightened around the handles, and I knew what it was, the future was coming down the pike, and we wouldn't even be able to stop that mother working together.