The Great Venezuelan Bus Odyssey (Part #4)

So you think that you have bad neighbors?

Oh, my! Look at this! This small odyssey is certainly earning the status of an epic saga; four posts already and I haven’t even got out from the housing development!In my last post, I promised you I’d introduce you to my nearest (and only) neighbor. Okay, brace yourselves, keep your hands inside the vehicle at all times (don’t stick your fingers through the bars of the cage, kids!) and please don’t feed him with peanuts…First of all, I barely see him; maybe once or twice each year—he’s very reclusive. On the few occasions I’ve seen him, it was when he was sitting on his front porch, gently balancing on his rocking chair while cradling a shotgun in his lap. (Can someone cue in the Dueling Banjos tune, please? It would be most fitting).You know… living in this abandoned housing project is quite creepy on its own; having this guy nearby makes it even more so, even if he lives nearly a mile away down the road.

On this occasion, while I’m embarked on this endeavor of traveling 300 hundred miles to my friend’s home to transcribe part of the Aftermath’s manuscript; while I’m wearing a plastic poncho and I’m trying to walk in the rain through a one-foot deep morass of clay mud… is another of those times when I meet this gut… because I must walk by his house.

He’s sitting on his rocking chair, all right. I catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, and I notice he’s smiling like a madman at the vision I’m proffering him. He’s holding his shotgun too. I’m afraid this guy is not quite mentally stable, you know. From the limited interactions I had with him (and the small talk I heard coming from the outside world), I regret to tell you he makes that deranged granny (from those pictures Clint Eastwood made with the orangutan) look sane by sheer comparison.

Slowly, step by step… inch by inch (NIAGARAAAA!) I walk past this guy’s home. And I’m about to go out from his visual range when I hear the loud click of a shotgun being cocked. I know he’s aiming that thing at my back, just to get his kicks out of me.

I hear him cackle maniacally.

A few minutes later (and a few more yards away from what I suppose it’s the limit range of a shotgun), I let out a sigh of relief. I’m back into a relatively safe zone…

Edwin Stark
Signing Off

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

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3 thoughts on “The Great Venezuelan Bus Odyssey (Part #4)

  1. Blimey, you’re brave. I think I’d rather quit the house and live on the streets than live where you do. I’m enjoying the odessy.



  2. Lalo

    Wow, no wonder you write horror… how could you really write anything else? Be careful friend!

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