At the Crossroads

A week after leaving the rehab clinic where I was effectively shielded from the influence of vice, I was relaxing in my chaise when I got a text with no return number.  "At the Crossroads, bring your sunglasses".  I didn't need to spend much time pondering this message, it was DW, and he was about to punk Satan.

A red-eye flight was available so I booked the next flight to Mississippi, packed a small backpack with an incomplete toiletry kit, a pair of skivvies, my black on black ray ban aviators and hit the road.  By the time I landed in Hattiesburg the sky was darker than it should have been.  I was late, and I needed to get to the prince of darkness before DW.  Its not clear what happens to the rest of us when the balance of good and evil is offset by the whimsy of a larger-than-life mortal, bent on playing the arch-angel for a fool.

The cab driver took my 20 and didn't offer up change, it didn't matter.  A couple of bucks seemed like a bargain for the spare minute that might hold the balance of the world within its margins.  I ran as fast as I could towards the non-descript intersection where the endless whizzing-by of oblivious pickups, cars and trucks is only rarely interrupted by the entrance of Beelzebub from his smoky depths.  The haze seemed out of place, but it was a sure sign that DW had already showed...Satan doesn't emerge for just anyone.

Their silhouettes were incongruous to say the least.  One, a 20ft winged behemoth and the other, a flightless man, shrouded in a duster and doffed with a well-worn cowboy hat.  I dashed behind a tree in the median, unwittingly directly next to DW's guitar case.  It was empty.  I shuffled my undies and toothpaste around in my bag until my fingers met a pen and pad.  I pulled it out, sifted quickly through the pages to a fresh one and began to record what might become the beginning of the end, for DW, for all of us.

It was hard to make out what they were saying to each other, but the snorts and clacking of Satan's hoofs on the pavement accentuated the gravity of the negotiations.  It was a stand off.  The counter-balance to all that is good against the boldest man on earth.  I dug in, donned my Ray Bans, wrote furiously and hoped against all hope that mankind's emissary of cool would out-do the done dunnit.

Part II coming soon...