It’s like a sick dream.  A delirium.  And if you don’t want to infect other people with it you isolate yourself.  The toss and turn of a sleepless night waking up to an obsession a compulsion that makes perfect sense the hallucination of a fever and then sleep again oblivion a dark nap and when you wake up that’s when you feel your worst your mouth dry and your throat sore as you tried to breathe in your dreams and maybe that’s how you need to see it—what maybe really happened.  You see David fell asleep.  Just like the last time.  He made it to the crossroads to the tree in Mississippi in midafternoon.  And it was a hot day.  A hot summer after a cold winter.  And so David took his rest there.  Along Highway 61.  Under that tree again and so that’s how you have to see to know what really happened—in the deliriums of a hot fever after a long walk and the realities we sell ourselves to in them.  David woke up and this is what he saw:

… he just appeared this time.  Walking towards me in the dirt and dust blowing from the road the sun behind him but it was like he never got to me.  Only his voice like he was standing right next to me behind me and above and I stood with what I had I put my hat back on my head and I held the guitar case in one hand and the can of gasoline in the other.  And his voice which said:  “I gave you your ears.  Your hands.  What’s a matter boy?  Still ain’t got the taste for it—the fame?  I can’t make people love you.  I don’t do that.  Take some credit for it.  That’s something you should have learned from your children.  It’s what I showed you—how you take the ride.  You don’t get in and get out.  I give you the insane pleasures of no closure.  Yeah you had the taste for it otherwise you would have never got in.  Remember?  Those made from scratch chocolate chip cookies—ha ha!  You think you sold something to me?  You sold it to a woman!  And that’s all the ride is—a progression of that…  Shit, man!  I’m just your stable horse…”

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