This is the Monarch Spur trail in Salida, Colorado. It's a 2.5ish-mile multipurpose pathway built on the backbone of an old railroad track, and it goes straight from the heart of town down by the old steamplant on the Arkansas River all the way west to Walmart. Some people like to go running on this thing, but not me. I only use it for walking, because it's made of concrete and I'm not a masochist.
If I keep walking the spur east, I'll end up downtown within close reach of several pubs and a couple liquor stores.
And if I turn around and take it toward the setting sun, I'll end up at a big box retailer that stays open till 11pm and offers an entire aisle of beer for sale. A21, far left corner, all the way in the back. I've been there quite a few times. Usually right before they closed, and always well past the point of drunk.
All I can think about is drinking myself into oblivion, so I turn off the part of me that thinks and find a place to sit by the river for a while. If I'm lucky, I'll slip on a rock while I'm here, knock myself unconscious, fall in, and drown.
But that probably won't happen. I'm feeling a bit unlucky this evening. I didn't win anything from the scratch-off I got on my detour up 1st Street to the Conoco; therefore, it's also unlikely I'll meet the accidental death I've got in mind.
At least that's how the logic works in my head.
I need a distraction, so I pick up a pebble and throw it into the river. I make a game out of trying to hit a boulder that's making waves about fifteen feet offshore.
Select a pebble.
Take aim.
Throw the pebble at the boulder.
That took me ten seconds. Great. Now I just need to do it again 4,319 more times till morning arrives, and I will have been sitting here all night not drinking, and I will feel incredible for doing so, and for not doing so.
Of course, this assumes there are enough pebbles available to sustain a full night of pebble-throwing. Looking around now, though, I don't think there are enough. My arm would probably get too tired anyway. And I'd also be really sleep-deprived and mostly worthless at work tomorrow.
So never mind. I'll find another distraction.
Stare into the river as it slithers its way south. Let the white noise of water rushing by inspire you.
Its sound is as mesmerizing as the sight of a campfire flickering at night.
The ticking of a clock. The hum of a box fan, the patter of rain on a corrugated tin roof in the middle of nowhere.
The eyes of someone you find attractive.
Get lost in the experience of something soothing, and wait to see if anything interesting happens.
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…
…
Hey man, what're you doing down there?
Writing.
Writing?
Yep.
Looks to me like you're just sitting there throwing rocks into the river?
It's part of my process.
Your writing process is throwing rocks into the river?
Part of it is, yeah.
Okay man, well, that's cool! Like, whatever works for you, man!
Yep. Thanks.
Hey man, so I'm gonna go ride out to Walmart to get a sixer of something, 'cause those fuckers at Tres Litros just cut me off. You want anything?
Nah, I'm good. Thanks, though.
Alright man, well, see you back at home then!
Yep.
