On The Road ...again! The Return of the Kerouac Dream.

I had another Kerouac dream.
I was working in a gas station. It was a late summer evening. The sky outside the station was a watercolored canopy of pinks and oranges as the sun set. I placed the coffee pot back on the warmer making sure to keep the handle in the front so the customer's wouldn't need to reach around it all awkward like. I hate when people put it back wrong. I hate craning my are around all awkward likes. As the sun sets I restock the cigarette supply bin that hangs above the counter. I then turned about and began to restock the energy supplements that hang at the back of my little behind-the-counter-fortress. It is a sturdy L-shaped oak counter. Unlike most you find in convenience stores. I think to myself that should zombies invade I could probably hold 'em off for quite awhile back here. "They don't make 'em like this anymore" I tell myself aloud, marveling at how much I am beginning to sound like the old men who pass in and out through the doors of this very gas station. "I hear ya, James." A man says, the roll of his voice is smooth. Smooth the way you feel tobacco should taste but never does. A slow calming audible current tinged with cool mint and Memphis twang. I turn around to find myself in the presence of the original man in black. Johnny Cash. "I know you!" I exclaim, forgetting everything I ever read about how not to act around famous people. "Hello, James... my name is Johnny Cash." He says to me in exactly the same slow friendly way he does on all the old vinyl. Not pompous or arrogant in the least. Humble and kind, like you would say to an elderly loved one who can't quite place your name but recalls your face. "but, how ...do you know my name?" I ask confused. Johnny smiles and flicks my plastic name tag gently with his index finger. His nail makes a diminutive click as it hits it's mark. "ah recon it wasn't too hard to figure out."
We chuckle together.
Just then the door to the bathroom swing open. I began to wonder how many other people have some how seeped into my place of employ without the large cowbell over the door alerting me to their presence. Passing the ceiling-high glass fronted refrigerators that stretch across the back wall of the building a man makes his way towards us. He carries himself well on long legs. His stride is confident without being brash. I recognize him at once. "Hey Jack." I find myself smiling and giving him the 'hows-it-going' nod that is usually reserved for close friends or those strange moments when you must shimmy past someone on an airplane to get to your seat and accidentally make eye contact with out intending to do so. Jack nods and raises his coffee mug in a mild toasting gesture. "How've you been?" Mr. Kerouac inquires, propping an elbow on my counter implying that he has nowhere to be anytime soon. I give him the Cliff's notes on what's been going on with me and my brood. He and Johnny smile and nod knowingly. "Been there, man." Mr. Cash adds. "It's hard to find just the right balance of work and family." He says knowingly. "Too much of one or the other and it all goes south, on ya. Too much work and the family will miss you, too much family time and the bills don't get paid." He concludes. Jack doesn't reply, but he seems to understand what Johnny is saying. I explain to the post humus guys that the money angle is why I had to pick-up a second job at this gas station. Jack finishes his coffee and says:
"It is only in the absence of 'choice' that the inevitability of fate becomes apparent."
Johnny pays for the gas and the pair leave me there alone.