American rust Read Free

of recent fires.
    “Jesus H. Christ. Smells like about ten bums are taking a dirtnap under this floor.”
    “It'll be alright,” said Isaac. “I'll get a fire going so we can dry off.”
    “Look at this place, it's like Howard Johnson's for bums; stacks of wood and everything.”
    “Welcome to my world.”
    “Please,” Poe snorted, “you're a fuckin tourist, is all.”
    Isaac ignored him. He knelt in front of the stove and began to build a careful fire structure, tinder and then kindling and then stopping to look for the right- sized sticks. Not the best place but it'll do. Better than spending the rest of the day in wet clothes. This is what it'll be like being on the road, prioritizing the small comforts—simple life. Back to nature. You get tired of it you can always buy a bus ticket. Except then it won't mean anything—you could just buy another ticket and come back. The kid is not afraid. More to see this way—detour to Texas, the McDonald Observatory. Davis Mountains, nine- meter telescope, Hobby- Eberly Try to imagine the stars through that—no different than being up there. Next best thing to astronauts. Very Large Array, New Mexico or Arizona, can't remember. See it all. No hurries, no worries.
    “Don't look so happy,” said Poe.
    “I can't help it.” He found some more small pieces and went back to building his fire, using his jackknife to shave splinters for tinder.
    “You take for goddamn ever to do anything, you know that?”
    “I like a one- match fire.”
    “Which, by the time you get it lit, it'll be dark and time to go, because I ain't spending the night here.”
    “I'll give you my sleeping bag.”
    “Fuck that,” said Poe. “We've probably already caught tuberculosis just from being in here.”
    “We'll be fine.”
    “You're useless,” Poe told him.
    “What do you think you'll do when I'm gone?”
    “I imagine I'll be extremely happy.”
    “Seriously.”
    “Quit it. I want someone to nag me, I'll talk to my mother.”
    “I'll talk to your mother.”
    “Yeah, yeah. You bring anything to eat?”
    “Some nuts.”
    “You would.”
    “Hand over your lighter.”
    “What would be perfect right now is a pie from Vincent's. Christ I was up there the other day, the house special—”
    “Lighter.”
    “I'd order us one but Nextel turned my phone off.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “That was a joke,” said Poe.
    “Extremely funny. Give me your lighter.”
    Poe sighed and handed it over. Isaac got the fire going. It grew quickly. It was a good fire. He kicked the door of the stove all the way open and then sat back and looked at his work with satisfaction.
    “You'll still be smiling when this place burns down on top of us.”
    “For someone who put two guys in the hospital—”
    “Don't go there,” said Poe.
    “I wouldn't.”
    “You know I think you're an alright guy, Mental. Just wanted to throw that out, in case you could consider my opinion.”
    “You could probably walk onto any football team out there. They've got lots of colleges, it's like Baywatch.”
    “Except everyone I know lives here.”
    “Call that coach from the New York school.”
    Poe shrugged. “I'm happy for you,” he said. “You're gonna make it, just like your sister. Right down to the rich guy you'll end up marrying. Some sweet old man, you'll do the circuit in San Francisco …”
    There was a pause as they looked around the hideout. Poe got up and found a piece of cardboard and set it down again to lie on. “I'm still drunk,” he said. “Thank God.” He lay back on the cardboard and closed his eyes. “Ah Christ, my life. I can't believe you're doing this.”
    “Boxcar Isaac, that's my new name.”
    “Loved by sailors.”
    “Duke of all hoboes.”
    Poe grinned. “If that's your way of apologizing, I accept.” He rolled onto his side and wrapped his football jacket around him. “Might rest my eyes a minute. Make sure you wake me up the second it stops raining.”
    Isaac kicked him: “Get