Read Online The One Percenters by John W. Podgursky - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John W. Podgursky
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I parked the car alongside the woods, not wanting to attract attention.
It was too late now for my purposes. The darkness assured that. I slept a remarkably peaceful sleep.
The sunlight awoke me. It was dawn—dewy, sweet, and innocent. Dixon was a beautiful town.
Too pretty to be home to a penitentiary. Yet there it was. No fancy name, just Dixon State Prison. Dixon was one of those places that’s a town, a township, and a county all in one. I guess someone just gets lazy in those cases. Either that, or they figure they’d make it easy on everybody.
Steam was coming off the hood of my car.
Steam or vapor or smoke. I always confuse those damn things. Chemistry sucks. I reached to my dashboard and grabbed the Styrofoam cup. I tasted the cold and bitter coffee. Just a sip was enough—too much, even.
I felt my face, and it was scratchy. I must have been a sight. Bad situations. Any one of us can fall victim to
‘em, and before you know it, your friends start to doubt you, then your family too. Then you get desperate. All this went through my head as I sat there, though it was largely irrelevant. I find it difficult to keep my thoughts under grasp at times. Sometimes it’s just easier to let go.
I stared down the hill that morning. The sun was out, and I could hear the chatter of small woodland creatures behind me. It was a comforting sound—
summery and cheerful and childlike. There was a smell in the air that I couldn’t place at first. It was both pleasant and not. I realized it was hot asphalt.
Somewhere, road crews worked, though I thought it a bit early. Probably wanted to avoid the heat of the day.
I can’t say I blame them. Outdoor work is attractive to the idealistic man, the one who forgets the bitters of winter and the sting of the hot sun.
Page 52
Down the hillside was the rear of the prison.
There was a fenced-in area where the criminals could recreate and dream of long tunnels leading outward.
I didn’t know if they’d even let him out there.
I knew even less about jails than I did about women.
High-risk prisoners, I didn’t know where they went.
Are they’re permanently chained? It was a question to which I hoped never to find the answer. The same hand that had grabbed the coffee now held the steel handle of a knife. I don’t know what I planned that day, if anything. I could no more get into the rec. area than the prisoners could get out of it. But I didn’t know how to shoot a gun, and that made things difficult. How things have changed.
It ended up a moot point. I never saw him. At least I don’t think I did. From my vantage point up on the hill, the cons were essentially tiny talking heads with tattooed shoulders. I remember being quietly happy not to have seen him. After all, vengeance solves nothing. Jill would still be gone.
Somewhere else, deeper and more subtly, I wished he stood in front of my car even as I sat there. I imagined blood spatter on the windshield and a dent in the bumper. Not a large dent; I would steamroll rather than smack. I wanted to see the whites of his eyes.
Still, this feeling was very subdued. I reached in the glove box and drew out an unopened cigarette pack.
I removed the cellophane, got out of my sedan, and took a seat on the roof of my car. As I smoked one, two, three butts. Yes, yes, we all can slip, all right? I looked back at the woods—fresh, green, and youthful—
thinking of the creatures within its treed walls. I could only hope they were happy in their simple lives. I wanted to hurt somebody.
Eventuality Avoidance. 1.n. The often subconscious use of day-to-day, inane activities as a means of averting thoughts concerning meaning, consequence, and the unknown in this lifetime. See escapism . [1955-60]
Hegemony is a wonderful thing. The best kind of control is that which those under control think is Page 53
natural, or part of an unchangeable system.
Ad in the Barton Press: Had enough. Even as you live, you die. Goods to be
It was too late now for my purposes. The darkness assured that. I slept a remarkably peaceful sleep.
The sunlight awoke me. It was dawn—dewy, sweet, and innocent. Dixon was a beautiful town.
Too pretty to be home to a penitentiary. Yet there it was. No fancy name, just Dixon State Prison. Dixon was one of those places that’s a town, a township, and a county all in one. I guess someone just gets lazy in those cases. Either that, or they figure they’d make it easy on everybody.
Steam was coming off the hood of my car.
Steam or vapor or smoke. I always confuse those damn things. Chemistry sucks. I reached to my dashboard and grabbed the Styrofoam cup. I tasted the cold and bitter coffee. Just a sip was enough—too much, even.
I felt my face, and it was scratchy. I must have been a sight. Bad situations. Any one of us can fall victim to
‘em, and before you know it, your friends start to doubt you, then your family too. Then you get desperate. All this went through my head as I sat there, though it was largely irrelevant. I find it difficult to keep my thoughts under grasp at times. Sometimes it’s just easier to let go.
I stared down the hill that morning. The sun was out, and I could hear the chatter of small woodland creatures behind me. It was a comforting sound—
summery and cheerful and childlike. There was a smell in the air that I couldn’t place at first. It was both pleasant and not. I realized it was hot asphalt.
Somewhere, road crews worked, though I thought it a bit early. Probably wanted to avoid the heat of the day.
I can’t say I blame them. Outdoor work is attractive to the idealistic man, the one who forgets the bitters of winter and the sting of the hot sun.
Page 52
Down the hillside was the rear of the prison.
There was a fenced-in area where the criminals could recreate and dream of long tunnels leading outward.
I didn’t know if they’d even let him out there.
I knew even less about jails than I did about women.
High-risk prisoners, I didn’t know where they went.
Are they’re permanently chained? It was a question to which I hoped never to find the answer. The same hand that had grabbed the coffee now held the steel handle of a knife. I don’t know what I planned that day, if anything. I could no more get into the rec. area than the prisoners could get out of it. But I didn’t know how to shoot a gun, and that made things difficult. How things have changed.
It ended up a moot point. I never saw him. At least I don’t think I did. From my vantage point up on the hill, the cons were essentially tiny talking heads with tattooed shoulders. I remember being quietly happy not to have seen him. After all, vengeance solves nothing. Jill would still be gone.
Somewhere else, deeper and more subtly, I wished he stood in front of my car even as I sat there. I imagined blood spatter on the windshield and a dent in the bumper. Not a large dent; I would steamroll rather than smack. I wanted to see the whites of his eyes.
Still, this feeling was very subdued. I reached in the glove box and drew out an unopened cigarette pack.
I removed the cellophane, got out of my sedan, and took a seat on the roof of my car. As I smoked one, two, three butts. Yes, yes, we all can slip, all right? I looked back at the woods—fresh, green, and youthful—
thinking of the creatures within its treed walls. I could only hope they were happy in their simple lives. I wanted to hurt somebody.
Eventuality Avoidance. 1.n. The often subconscious use of day-to-day, inane activities as a means of averting thoughts concerning meaning, consequence, and the unknown in this lifetime. See escapism . [1955-60]
Hegemony is a wonderful thing. The best kind of control is that which those under control think is Page 53
natural, or part of an unchangeable system.
Ad in the Barton Press: Had enough. Even as you live, you die. Goods to be
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