Confessions of a Tumbleweed Rustler

Predator Press

[LOBO]

The only thing that mitigates the oppressive heat here in Pianosa II is knowing it’s already forty degrees and threatening to snow in Pianosa I.

Seriously. If you come out to visit, do yourself a favor and charge the air conditioner in your car: I have about four bucks in quarters, nickels and dimes soldered permanently into the drink console by a melted orange crayon.

Orange was my favorite crayon, and ironically a decent box crayons is about four bucks.

Very funny Jesus.

-Hope you all got a great big Holy Chuckle outta that one up there.

I can only imagine this place in like August.

Yeesh.

By this time next August I’ll want to have a job as an air conditioner salesman or something.

... I’ll lock the front doors when the customers arrive, and leave them out there broiling on my vast and unshaded freshly-tarred 700 degree blacktop starin' at the “Back in 5 Minutes” sign for like a half an hour.

Only then do I let the bastards in. And inside, the place is a vortex of fresh cool air created by every damn thing in the place bein on at full blast ‘an blowin my paperwork everywhere.

FwooosHHH!!!

“We take all major credit cards!” I’ll yell over the thundering, tempestuous icy swirl. “But you better go get some friends first. Most of this stuff is real heavy.”