Two Guitars
I found out
some things that
sent me off
the deep end,
and I made
the typically American
decision to solve
my problem
with a gun.
I drove around
the Arizona valley
with two guitars
lying across the
backseat of my car:
a black Gibson SG
All American series,
and a beat-to-shit
Fender Mustang.
The only things I
owned of any value.
The guy at
the pawnshop said
the guitars weren’t
worth anything,
not even in trade
for the cheapest
handgun.
I stood outside
the pawnshop,
pissed off and sweating,
formulating a new plan.
Obviously once I
found a gun
I would have to
come back and
shoot this dumbfuck
before I could
get down to
the business of
shooting myself.
Anger could be
an unlikely lifeline,
and there was
always something to
be angry about
in those days.
©2024 James Hippie All rights reserved.
James Hippie is the author of the novel The Punk Called Rock and the short story collection Terminal Jive. His writing has appeared online at Zygote in My Coffee, Horror Sleaze Trash, and Terror House Magazine.