The Hard Road 

Daybreak hits me like a tyre iron to the face, the cold hard gravel of the rodeo bar and grills parking lot has been my bed for the night, I am guessing i've been lying here since a couple of beer bellied urban cowboys tossed me out like yesterdays trash.
Would have been nice to make it back to my truck before passing out for the night buy hey every cloud has a beggars something or other. From my horizontal vantage point my blood shot squinting eyes catch a glimpse of the rising sun glinting on the windshield of Betsy, my cherished chevey truck abandoned in the far corner of the lot, a metal , glass and rubber Shangri-La and my home since I heard the call.
A wave panic washes over me as I drag my aching body to perpendicular and start the lurch and stumble of the morning after walk back to the safety of Betsy, where did the cash for the tequila bender come from where had I been before the rodeo bar, I don't own anything except Betsy and the, no I cant have not even in my darkest hour would I part with it, in a river of sweat and a heart pounding like war drums I throw open Betsy's rusted creaking door and drag the battered old case across the seat, I unlatch and flip the lid, thank god its still in there the defused light of a new day eliminates the battle scared 52 Telecaster the key to finding a place for the broken robot, outlier, odd fish' maverick oddball lost souls, a place that can only be found if you are lost enough to find it.