Wierd stuff I wrote on the road to California.

At me in the eyes and his were squinty and black and he pointed to the half-built bank behind him and said, see that? that’s a whorehouse— you a Christian? – you ever looked the enemy in the eyes?— you ever felt the opposition pressed up right against your face so you can taste it in your mouth? He said, I spoke a prayer before I walked across that street there and a psychopath tried a run me down—you can feel it—when the enemy—ya know?—I spoke a prayer and you see that crosswalk?— car came ‘round that corner and tried a run me down—the enemy tried to run me down ‘cuz I just spoke a prayer. He said, you know what I done in my life?—I shut down thousands a bad banks—I’m a author. He looked at me the way that a bear looks at you when it’s told you its life story and hopes you care. He looked at me and he was a big man we he walked like he was tired all the time. He walked like his back hurts. He looked up across the sidewalk and saw me and smiled at my walking to him. He looked