retro-gradation
-or-
pulling uphill
I’ve got a bag of cry’s that are destined for van nuys. As a trucker w/ a prosthetic leg, a part of this journey contains some bit of dread; mountains and braking, slippering slopes the less be said. Let’s see what’s a-
Took a sleep break, still groggy, on this side of an off-ramp that implied no parking yet I understood that doesn’t apply to our rigs. I feel gassed out but gas up. These lamentations aren’t going to deliver themselves.
On the road again: highways 40, 66, 81, they all seem to blend. My nave-star tells which direction I should be aiming for; I attach myself to the CB, an extension of my arm, to counteract my phantom limb.
“Is CBW out there?” I howl.
“Negative I-8,” he responds.
I keep trucking along packed highways, desolate roads. The trail of tears weighs down the trailer, makes it slower: but its destination and my relief is an exit ahead.