Bags lady

Bag lady

She’s waiting for the train
Her arms so full of cheap grocery bags, heavy
She looks sad
Train comes
“Let me open the door,” I say
“Thanks,” she says, having lost hope
“Everybody is a tired,” I say
“Yes,” she says, “Everybody is a tired…”

Once upon the time in Kentucky


I was in Tennessee cruising on route 45, going north to Chicago straight from Mississippi. It must have been 1 or 2 am. I had earlier dropped the kids to their mother in Tupelo, MS. I knew they had a good vacation time in Chicago with their dad. Now they were back home and I was on my way back to work and if I wanted rent and child support paid, I’d better haul ass and be at work the next morning in Chicago, hundreds of miles away from Dixie. So I was cruising north.

Then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, cops’ lights behind me. I knew Tennessee was a bitch with speed-traps but I was worried with work and I was only 10 or 15 miles away from the Kentucky border. See I’m French, I’ve watched the movies and I knew that once you crossed the State line, it becomes a Federal crime and the locals have to give it up.

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