Road rues

“Come out west,” they said. That’s where the action is. “We’ve got plenty of jobs out here,” they promised.

Well, I ain’t seen shit.

I can’t believe I left the city for this.

I am feeling deserted.

I am Cone Alone.

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CCW

People see the tattoo and they assume.

They think they know me.

I lost my job eight months ago.

I was working on a street in Reston, Virginia. I was earning a steady check.

Then the construction was finished.

“No construction here,” they say to me.

I am out of luck.

I am more than you think.

I am Cone Alone.

CCW 1

CCW 2

I walk the line

That truck is too close!

It’s so hot out here!

And if that idiot I work with doesn’t stop singing that Tom Cochran song I’m going to “accidentally” knock him into oncoming traffic. I’d much rather listen to Stephen Malkmus’ old band.

I can barely control my road rage.

I am Cone Alone.

Policed to meet you

Fuzz.

Pig.

Fascist.

I’ve had all the derogatory sobriquets slung at me.

But I keep walking the beat.

And I keep running into some of the worst society has to offer.

“Hey. Just what do you think you’re doing here?”

“Yeah, you. This area is for authorized personnel only. I can’t have you just hanging around. Sorry, but you’ll need to move on.”

“Wait. Who’s that over there? You’re just not gonna make this easy are you?”

I never wanted to be a detective. I never wanted to be a chief.

I just wanted respect.

I am Cone Alone.

No escape hatch (act)

I already know that because I’m employed by the Conetral Intelligence Agency (CIA) I have limits on my political activities.

But thanks for the visual metaphor.

I am surrounded by heavy-handed idiots.

I am Cone Alone.

The Longest Distance Between Two Cones is a Straight Line

We’ve been on the same jobs for over 20 years. We’ve nearly been hit, almost drowned, been struck by lightning and had a quantity of scrapes, bruises and flesh wounds that verges on innumerable.

In ’88 we were on a job in Pittsburgh out near the interstate. A distracted driver nearly swerved right into us.

In the summer of 1995 we worked the concert for some ska band or something called Captain Hookey. We both had beer (maybe some piss) on us that night.

Last summer [2011], we were stuck on a beach a little too close to comfort to some potentially shark-infested waters. I’ve never liked the ocean and I particularly don’t like anything that could snap me in two without batting a fin.

Years, near misses and close calls normally bring coworkers together and forge a bond that will last a lifetime.

This will be one of our last jobs together. We have never spoken to each other.

I am Cone Alone.