Whiteout Wednesdays #1

Not sure Pat if this is what you wanted but I had a try:

To abandon Mobile at dawn without telling anybody, Bruce knew a jumper who got a hand job on a crab boat where she made five hundred dollars a day. Bruce was divorced and I’d never been married, we planned to sell our cars and buy an olive drab Ford four-wheel-drive pickup fill it full of sharp green pinecones you could sell those suckers for five bucks apiece in New England.

They’re crazy, he said.

Driving through Georgia and Tennessee, we’d look for tent revivals we found a good one. Bruce would fake heart disease and I’d be an alcoholic— I’d have to belch and stumble and splash on rum like aftershave. we had the whole congregation praying for us. the ushers passed the buckets for donation, we’d say we were flat broke, Homeless.

Bruce had stolen his ex-wife’s Polaroid camera,  we’d keep for making pictures—hawks on posts, grizzly bears, church marquees We’d have books-on-tape from the public library, J Gris, S Kin, and self-help. In the Badlands of South Dakota,  we pulled off the road to sleep in the back of the truck we’d play I prove Your Vocab tape, words like eclectic and satyr.

The original text:

 

Alaska by Tom Franklin  (an excerpt)
© by Tom Franklin. From the collection Poachers.

Our aim was this: Alaska.

To abandon Mobile at dawn without telling anybody, not even our girlfriends or our boss at the plant. Bruce knew a bail jumper who got a deckhand job on a crab boat off the Alaskan coast where she made five hundred dollars a day. Bruce was divorced for the third time and I’d never been married, so we planned to sell our cars and Bruce’s house trailer and buy an olive drab Ford four-wheel-drive pickup with a camper, fill it full of those sharp green pinecones hard as hand grenades. Bruce’d heard you could sell those suckers for five bucks apiece in New England.

They’re crazy up there, he said.

Driving through Georgia and Tennessee, we’d look for tent revivals where they had faith healing. If we found a good one we’d stop and visit a service. Bruce would fake heart disease and I’d be an alcoholic—to make it convincing, he said, I’d have to belch and stumble and splash on rum like aftershave. He would grimace, moan, and clutch his left arm, until we had the whole congregation praying for us. When the ushers passed the KFC buckets for donation, we’d shrug and say we were flat broke, just poor travelers. Homeless.

Bruce had stolen his second ex-wife’s Polaroid camera, which we’d keep handy for making pictures—hawks on fenceposts, grizzly bears, church marquees that said THE LORD IS COMING SOON, then right under that BINGO 8:00 EVERY TUESDAY. We’d have a stack of books-on-tape from the public library, too: John Grisham, Stephen King, and even self-help. In the Badlands of South Dakota, when we pulled off the road to sleep in the back of the truck with our feet sticking out, we’d play an Improve Your Vocabulary tape, learn words like eclectic and satyr.

Subtracted for: https://blackcatalleyblog.wordpress.com/2017/02/01/whiteout-wednesdays1/

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2 Responses to Whiteout Wednesdays #1

  1. wordwitch88 says:

    Wow! That’s exactly the idea Michael 😀

    Funny, because when I started reading your piece, I was confused, (I’ve read the original post so many times now) because your subtractions are slight – but they are significant, nonetheless, so your piece offers a different taste and flavour! And I wouldn’t and obviously didn’t take the same approach – so yeah, I’m impressed.

    Glad you played along – hope you’ll give it a go next time too. 🙂

  2. Michael says:

    Yes for sure Pat…😁

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