What perverse ideology leads a man to don a clown costume & give loaded derringers to children? He’s over the edge. He’s over. Period.
The sad scene behind me on Cortez Street dictates courage, dictates that I investigate. I slither out from behind the trash bin. I straighten up. I step forward. The clown disappeared up the alley & I want to know exactly where.
Limping now, I step forward again & again. I step across Gurley Street ~ named after a surveyor & officer in the U.S. Army who set out for but never made it to Prescott. He was going to be the town’s first mayor if I remember my history correctly.
A motorist almost runs me down. What else is new? Another motorist slows, stops, condescendingly wiggles her fingers at me to continue across the damn street. I do as beckoned & back alley drift between the tall edifice of Saint Michael’s Hotel & a little Buddha gift store ~ both built of crumbling brick. The clarity of the situation is hitting me now. The shadows, though shrinking, are deep & mystical. This reminds me of when I walked down Oak Creek Canyon along the highway under a full moon. But I’m in Prescott & it’s almost noon. And, as usual, there’s nothing to fear but God. And He is known to loves us.
I think I am getting Gurley mixed up with Whipple when it comes to the historical personalities of Prescott. Was Whipple’s first name Fort? No, I don’t think so. And it might very well be he was going to be not Prescott’s first mayor but Arizona’s first governor. He never made it. I best stop thinking about this.
And it’s getting hot around here. Sweat is dripping down the side of my face. My armpits are sopping wet ~ might be because I’m wearing a new vest. I pull down the brim of my old hat. My hair, I’m sure, is all over the place, like, I’m an over-the-hill hippie with a silver beard…
~ by Rawclyde!