The Old Blog in the Desert

We come from a goddamn different world. Back when people didn’t just sit around, waiting for life to toss‘em a bone. We worked hard as hell. Some of us had blisters before we knew what a dollar was. Started young ‘cause it was the only way the family could keep food on the table. Some of us did it ‘cause our parents got up at dawn and expected us to do the same. Or we came up on land where you worked, or you starved. And some of us just needed a buck or two to rub together ‘cause our folks couldn’t afford so much as an allowance.

We didn’t sit inside staring at screens all day. We were out there in the dirt, snow, the kind of rain that slapped you across the face. You stayed out ‘til you were blue in the damn lips, ‘til the streetlights buzzed on like a warning shot. And respect? Hell, we didn’t ask for it, didn’t expect it—not unless we’d sweated, bled or broke our asses for it.

We’ve seen some shit. The Summer of Love. Vietnam. Tricky Dick screwing it all up. We were there, every bit of it, but too busy to think it’d be history someday. Life didn’t hand us anything easy. It grabbed us by the balls and squeezed, like wringing a chicken’s neck before supper. We had to be double-tough, tougher than the shit that came at us, ‘cause if we weren’t, it’d chew us up.

Now our bodies are shot, yeah. Our effing brains aren’t much better, forgetting half the damn things they’re supposed to remember. But we’re still here. We’ve seen enough, done enough, and still, tough as nails under all the rust.