Discover more from The Last Hundred Miles
August 10th, 1973
Sitting at my Aunt Cat’s surrealistic middle world apartment. –Warren Robins Georgia. With no claim’s to prophetic foresight, I feel safe in saying that– regardless of how else I may interpret it– this is truly a once-in-a-lifetime occasion. That is– I will never be here again. In fact, a fitting title for this entire experience would be: “Larry’s Last Trip Through Amerika.” My arms and legs are covered with hives and I feel as though I must summon every bit of inner strength left at my disposal to wait out the remainder of this day.
Here’s the story:
I have lost both the will and the ability to play this part.
We got into Warren Robins early last night. Presumably to spend the night at Aunt Cat’s and to leave early this morning to go on into Gulfport. Aunt Cat and her lover simply would not hear of them (us) leaving so early and we were compelled under pressures of hurt feelings to stay till Saturday so we could all go out tonight. Aunt Cat is her usual hysterical self– although it’s easy to discern a definite calming influence coming from her current lover. Most of her helter-skelter love affairs have been with loud-mouthed middle-aged airforce men who drink too much, are usually married and who have very little– usually no– respect for her. This man’s name is Hank– and although he doesn’t nearly approach the levels of obnoxious of her other men– I still find him and her intolerable. My manufactured joy at reunion when we first got her– the hugs and the kisses– the by-god how’re you doin’– the plastered smile– the good-humored conversation was short lived. By the time we bid our gotta’ get going’s last night I was nearly out of control– the phony smiles were bordering obvious impatience and disgust– I can barely be civil.