Vertical Air
“Let’s stop and ask Buffalo Bill.”
Our car turned left, into Buffalo Bill’s place and we three nearly
sideswiped a blue truck.
I met Buffalo Bill one day. “Gas – Cheap” His sign said.
Then in smaller letters: “I mean coffee”
I have no automobile. And I love coffee.
“Decaf,” I said.
“I think that I saw a green label
on some instant here somewhere,” he said.
And that’s how I came to meet Buffalo Bill
and spend an afternoon.
Today, I had another matter on my mind.
“I have a question,” I said. They tilted their heads to listen to me.
“When we drive along in a car
and we hit a fly, or a bee, we smash it
against the windshield,” I said.
“Or it goes around and . . . “ the car driver said.
His gal-pal was listening.
“Okay, but we smash it upon meeting it
while driving at 60 miles an hour,” I said.
“So, how come a fly can stay in a car and
not smash against the back window when we are driving?”
“Let’s stop and ask Buffalo Bill.”
Buffalo Bill was in his magnificent, and ragged, glory.
Ten gallon hat off, and wisps of thinning grey brown
sunbleached hair so long in the elements that it has been
left with no real color at all.
Snoot, Buffalo Bill’s huge old German Shepard came out to bark at
me. I am wearing baggy white Bermuda shorts, brown shoes and
black socks. It’s a look.
“Buffalo Bill, I have a question,” I said.
“Let’s have it.”
I asked him the question about the fly and travel in a car.
“Vertical air,” he said.
That settled it for me.