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Busking on Broadway | In the Road | Chapter 5 | Update

Photo by Joshua Black Wilkens
Audio of John Thursday and Bonne Bouche busking on Broadway in Nashville, TN. 2006

In the Road | Chapter 5 | Nashville

Next week.

Busking can be Hell. Audio above recorded on mini-disc in the summer of 2006.

Washing Tomorrow’s Clothes,
No machine to overload.
Planning just one day ahead.
Oh where will we go?
Only tomorrow knows.
Maybe we will just make love instead.
A t-shirt and a pair of jeans,
Pair of shoes to chase my dreams,
Just for the fun of it.
Whisper and not a scream,
Walk away from the guillotine.
Making a run for it.
Cause being far away makes the perfect kind of alibi.

Outside the Perimeter – Part II

flash fic·tion noun

  1. fiction that is extremely brief, typically only a few hundred words or fewer in its entirety.

Outside the Perimeter –By John Thursday

  1. a flash fiction prequel to In the Road by John Thursday.

Part II

Johnny peeled the pickle slice from his Sunday shirt and tossed it into his mouth with a snarl. Grabbing a tiny napkin from the silver table dispenser he dabbed at the stain left behind and glared at his older brother. 

What the Hell, Lane!?

You said you wanted it, Lane responded. 

Johnny! Susan snapped.

Look at my shirt! Johnny attempted a retort. It was no use. Shirts get dirty, under no circumstances do children cuss in public. Johnny’s great-grandfather, Papa, chewed his food serenely and smiled at the young boy before turning to Lane.

So you’re a wrastler now? he asked, using an Arcadian pronunciation that made Lane squirm.  

Continue reading “Outside the Perimeter – Part II”

I figured it out. I know what you want. It’s Poetry.

Scan #2

Driving into town I know there isn’t enough gas.
I get as close as I can and start walking;
The side of the highway isn’t designed for this –
There’s shit everywhere and the cars are a menace.
No longer equals, it’s me against them:
The guy you don’t want to be.

On cold days I wear a military issue, Vietnam-era, green army shirt over my black hoodie.
Between doctor appointments (the first is a test)
A man asks me what the church is having for lunch.
I take a minute,
War has moved out of the jungle and into the desert,
And they don’t make shirts like they used to.

On up the hill, on the edge of campus,
I used to blend in,
Who am I kidding
Dig for the dugout,
I might be dying,
But I have time to kill.

Back down the other side a girl steps in front of me,
A robust child slung over her shoulder
Staring at me.
I put kindness on my face just for him,
Just for a minute. After all,
These are the streets.

I cross to the hospital,
Pass the valet on my way to the bathroom.
All to myself
I risk it at the urinal,
Someone walks in midstream and I freeze.
I’d never make it in prison.

Three hours still to go and I’m hungry.
There’s a grocery store a couple blocks away,
I buy peanuts, bananas, and a jug of water,
Find a bench and enjoy my lunch.
A couple of men wait for the bus,
I want to give them peanuts in solidarity.

Back at the hospital I consider letting them know I’ve arrived,
But I don’t want to rush the results.
I find a chair in another department and sit down
With my plastic grocery bag
Full of peanut shells
And a jug of water.

Fifteen minutes to go and I tell them I’m there.
Right this way sir,
I scan her face for my results,
Someone from the team will be with you shortly.
Jesus. Here we go.
I need to get my car off the road.

Joinerhouse Attic

Dusty old home recordings from theJoinerhouse attic.

Jan 7, 2019

In the summer of 2018 I released an EP of new songs along with two different EP’s of old recordings. After a couple of months I decided the old recordings didn’t need to be up (I waffle about my catalog to the point of paralysis). Months later I was checking the stats from Spotify and Apple Music and this song had twice the “saves” as the rest of the catalog. Color me surprised.

Outside the Perimeter Part one

flash fic·tion noun

  1. fiction that is extremely brief, typically only a few hundred words or fewer in its entirety.

Outside the Perimeter –By John Thursday

  1. a flash fiction prequel to In the Road by John Thursday.

Part One

Johnny could barely make out the staticky voice coming down the hall from his mother’s bedroom as he opened his eyes one January morning and remembered the talk of snow he’d heard the night before. Looking out of the window he saw a fresh cover of white reflecting the morning sun and a steady flurry of flakes still falling. In long-johns and socks, he raced down the hall toward the Pied-Piper sounds of his mother’s green-plastic radio and listened as the DJ read down the list of school closings. A thermometer, placed there the year before by his great grandfather, hung just outside the second story window of the master bedroom overlooking their large front yard. His mother was sitting in front of a vanity mirror applying makeup as he sat down on her king-sized bed and listened to the radio.

Continue reading “Outside the Perimeter Part one”