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      Lost Time
      
      
      
      by
      
      Rod Stewart
      
Nothing broke the twilight death except for the steel thunder upwind. And the 
smoker's cough flickering an amber glow from his crooked fag wagging over 
pockmarks and three day stubble. We were at the edge of nowhere, with upturned 
collars snubbing the icy northeaster. Loitering like two stunned crows on a rail 
line as any other in the county. No landmarks or signs for miles and miles in 
any compass direction. The beauty of our secret was absolutely nothing but 
wild brush and pungent swamp.
As kids we were bastards always up to no good. When the old man's gold watch and 
coins disappeared so did our leather backsides. We were whipped more than the 
crucified saviour. My crowfeet still twinge at that slaughter. Troy and I bear 
welt scars from that generation past. God's truth we didn't do the crime. No 
amount of blood splattered on the kitchen floor would get a confession. So we 
played their game. Troy lifted the old man's cowhide case and stuffed it with 
bait.
Dad was a big town rooster. His bark made neck hair petrify. So the deputy sent 
a silent tracker after us. Of course, we figured out the shadow stranger in a 
blink. Troy and I hopped the first loco outta hickville. When we reached 
desolation by our watch time, I chucked the stash out the train car window. You 
see, the engineer had his schedule down to the minute. And we knew that. The 
distance travelled at that speed in that time was the only way to find our 
secret drop spot.
The stool pigeon told the deputy about the stash tossed out into nowhere. And 
the deputy pig wanted the glory for himself. By recovering Dad's treasure, he'd 
be mayor after next election. So the deputy trekked out at dawn that day after 
silencing the tracker with a slug to the temple. His short sleeves didn't do him 
much good though when the freak snow squall hit before dusk. The search for the 
deputy's corpse, likely frozen from exposure, was called off after a couple of 
months.
Now Troy and I are standing here like vultures twenty years later. Laughing our 
guts out. At a rack of bleached bones, deputy stetson and a hole bitten sack 
dripping corroded coins with watch.

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