næturleið

Driving in the dark, stars overhead. Shapes are going by the side. Cactus, maybe. Sometimes things moving. It's hard to see what. Elvis with his hands on the wheel staring out over the hood to where the headlights are showing just a bit of the road ahead. It's strange to see him without his sunglasses on. He looks pretty near as old as he's got to be, now. I suppose that makes sense.

I'm in the front seat again, all slunk down with the guitar in my hands, not playing melody anymore really, but fooling with the strings and making noise. If I take a tuning peg and just haul on it good and thumb the string I get a nice, long, bent sound, almost not even a note, and I hit it a few times, hard, and I'm starting to warm up to it, but right then Killer howls along. He's right behind me, and the hairs on my neck stand up. I thought he was asleep, probably he had been asleep, but I don't want to hear him make that lonely sound in my ear again, so I put my fingers over the strings and just sit quietly in the dark.