Once upon a time there was a dog named Hunter. He had a disease on his nose. Nobody really cared. He was in a band called The Bloody Videos. They played every other Thursday night at the Highway Inn. That’s where I met Hunter. It was my 16th birthday. I didn’t drive my car because I knew I was going to drink a Four Loco. I always liked the name Four Loco. I wonder if they are trying to say that there are four kinds of crazy, like the south the east the north and the west, like fire and water and wind and the earth. I liked the green-and-red-flavored one. Hunter played keys. Always wore sunglasses. Never said a word. Never even nodded or the opposite of nodded his head. He was a pretty stable dog. His body seemed to be in the right place. What I wanted more than anything that night was to meet the owner of the Highway Inn. Her name was Laura Simpson. I’d heard a rumor that she knew how to get out of this town. That there was a key that led to a door that led to a candle lit hallway that led to a train. As you can imagine, I was highly motivated to get out of this town. Unless, you can’t imagine it. Can you? What are you capable of and not capable of imagining? It’s a question that feels outside of my jurisdiction. It’s very hard to pinpoint exactly how much I have to do with anything. What I’ll say is this: I never got the opportunity to meet Laura Simpson. She never even showed her face. And so she never even showed the opportunity to have a conversation nor the opportunity to get the key to the door to the hallway to the train. What did happen was I got to split a Four Loco with Hunter the dog. He had an orange-and-blue flavor. He said, “What’s up dog? How are you feeling?” I proceeded to tell him what was up and what I was feeling. He said, “No, I wasn’t actually asking, I was just saying Hi.” I said, Ah, I get it. I get it now. People, and dogs too, are always asking me what’s up. Now I know, they don’t always need to know.
@jaysprogell