I’m a-runnin’ away, my legs are racing for a place in hell. I don’t want to go down that slide dear, it’s never endin’. My breath pants in gasps and I imagine I can see spiderwebs hanging from my mouth seeping from my almost never used lungs. My legs are burnin’ dear, I don’t think it’s gonna be all right. My red sneakers pounding against cold concrete, trying not to fall and become squished dead-meat under some truck-master’s tires.
          Why am I running in the middle of the road? Why’s that you ask? Well I’m a runnin’ in the center of the road because I’m crazy. And isn’t that what crazy people do? Run in the center of the road hoping not to get run over by some truck or tiny little honda that could probably kill me just as easy. Runnin’ dear from your gaping blood-stained mouth because I didn’t think I could handle it.
          I’m a forty old man so why am I running in the center of the road all but nude and wearing a bare pair of red sneakers. Fleein’ from my dear old wife’s death. Am I a coward? Well hell yeah I am! And nobody on this dogarn planet better deny it because I’ll twist their ears so hard they’re sure to cry like the little babies they are. Them all in their fancy suits and ties telling me to calm down like it’s an easy thing! Well I won’t calm down because I got to see away my wife somethin’ fancy. She deserved that; the sweet ol’ dear, and god I loved her. Soon it’ll be my turn and hopefully I’ll see my dear old darlin’ sometime soon.
          Those peepin’ paparatzi are probably all over my story right about now, I probably got big ol’ helecoptors flying around behind me coverin’ my big old ass that’s swayin’ around in the breeze with one of those clear little things that blend everything all together and make it seem like nothing’s there and so it’s not inappropriate. I remember the good old days when we had good old fancy black to cover all those nasty parts so them gentle-women wouldn’t get offended.
          But I keep on running away and I wonder how my gentle heart is doing and oh it’s racin’ around like those big old jackrabbits that we used to catch together dear. And I keep runnin’ and runnin’ and I don’t feel my breath anymore and I’m just sprintin’ and holding my breath all along the way so I don’t die quite as fast. I run like some giant monster’s aimin’ to get me just like my elder brother always told and that might actually be true only I never really believed it until now.
          Now the red-robe of death is following me around. Floatin’ on those big black wings lookin’ patient, as if somehow knowing I was going to die this night even without any involvement with death and his huge honker of a scythe. Man I would have liked to have a scythe like that when I was growin’ up and it was harvest time. Would’ve been a big help with the wheat. Now I’m going to die, all without the help from that huge honker of a scythe. Nobody’s shearin’ off my head tonight.
          The truck driver honks his horn as he passes me by, waving with the strangest look stuck on his face. I wave cheerfully as Death disappears with his robes blowing back as if he’s been blown away by the side wind from the truck. And than I collapse on the concrete scraping my frozen knees. Lyin’ on the cold concrete butt naked except for a pair of red sneakers I go to find my darlin’.