Beerhut tales- J

Yes, Buck used to be a truck driver. His favorite truck was red and furious, and there was nothing like life on the road. His mistress was the night, and the highway their accomplice. Years ago, Buck found a hidden treasure on a small town near Mexico: a beautiful small girl who loved orange color combined with the most girlish pink, as well as sex, and unicorns; a young woman who would give her heart to any man who invited her a drink. She was around 17, and smelled just like lavender.

Buck met Joanne in an old dinner where she was the waitress; she had him when she poured the coffee into his cup. “So, where you from?”, she asked him with a southern accent after getting him some scrambled eggs with bacon. “Form here, and there you know… life on the road”, he replied as confident as when he drove his red truck. After two days, six bottles of Jack, and some hours of rough sex, Buck left the town. While he was on the road, the only thing that he would remember was Joanne’s pureness shown through her smile.

All of a sudden, while the former truck driver was trying to get rid of his past, he remembered Joanne’s teeth fitting perfectly inside her lips, and her voice, her voice; that soothing sound of a woman trying to find the protection of a father in some unknown man’s arms. She had a wild heart, and he loved the stark. “I’m back on the road.”

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Beerhut tales- Part I

A glass of Jack, a cigarette, and an anchor tattoo. That’s Buck going into the most amazing hidden bar in town. He wears the truck driver cap, and the Sparrow-swag. This solitary man has no friends on what seemed to be the less populated place on Earth, yet his strong personality provokes nothing but respect and some kind of fascination about him. Maybe his old cowboy boots make him as hypnotizing as his squared pattern shirts. There’s something about Buck that everybody wants to have, like if he’s hiding a treasure, more than a mystery.

Once Buck entered into the beer hut; he went straight into the restroom. “Damn! I’m peeing my soul out”, he thought. Once he became the Poseidon of the toilet, he went back to the center of the hut’s scene. He used to wear sunglasses inside the bar, even when this was a dark and dirty place, but this one night it was different: his old wayfarers were laying on the floor of his ’69 Chevrolet truck. Buck only had one thing in mind: getting so drunk he could erase his past, for the rest of his life. So he started cleaning his sins away with two cheap beers. “I can’t”, Buck told to himself, while the only waiter of the bar brought him a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. All of his sins and wounds were some bottles away from being washed, yet his pulse refused to be a part of the purification. His blood traveled around his body with the weight of a hurricane.

Buck started sweating through every pore of his body. Snuff, smoke; Snuff, smoke; a sip of Jack; snuff, smoke. There was a whole lot to clean. “Breathe Buck, breathe!”

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