Photo Credit @ Jean L. Hays
Any Given Sunday
Her mama’s dire warnings were easily abandoned in the dust as she cranked the old Mustang’s engine to life and rattled down the washboard. A sermon crackled forth from the hometown station, “a strong hand against the decline of American decency and Christian sensibilities”; an echo of her daddy’s sentiments to never spare the rod.
A duffel bag filled with dreams and not much else, rested on the torn tuck and roll. She flipped the dial to Elvis, she would not kneel today.
The last tethers dissolved in the rear view mirror.
They say, “You can never really go home again.” She hoped it was true.
For more stories of the open road follow the signs to Friday Fictioneers on Route 66.