March 1, 2005 Dusty Road "Good stuff", the blood that drips from the finger tips in to the ring of time. Never stopping for lunch in that lonely cavern to the right of the old dusty road in the desert. There is no caffeine in the drink, yet he still finds time to fold the map into the glove box as he wonders, where is the next cigarette going to explode. If he never hears the screaming from the basement it will be too soon. He is glad to be away from that clown once and for all. As the sun sets in the rearview mirror he recites the songs of his forefathers in a way that makes karma think there is a future in the path he has chosen. There is still time to conform to the wishes of the water dripping from the valve and evaporating in to steam, rising up to the nose of his best friend Gordon. Hell, 2 cops coming to give him a ticket for spitting into the crossed wires he paid for with an online account. If only he would have had that second dohnut, things would be a lot better for his twin brother, the one with the purple drop-top Caddy. "Oh, well," he sighs, "things can't always be as bad as I hopped for."