We were in Oklahoma a little after 3am Randy, his brother Bob and my old GMC. We had some moonshine whisky and some of Bob's homegrown. We were so messed up we didn't know if we were drunk or stoned. Randy was a sad-sack, tall kinda frail;
Bob was a raving maniac, crazier than hell.
They been kicked out of high school several years ago for pushin over port-a-cans at the 4-H rodeo.
Since then they've done their little dance right outside the law they were popped twice in Austin Texas, once in Arkansas. I don't know what possessed me to want to tag along, cause I was raised a Christian and I knew right from wrong.
We stole two Charolais heifers from Randy's sweetheart's paw and sold them at the livestock sale outside of Wichita. We got $900 and never did suspect the world of hurt we'd be in once we cashed that check. Next day we heard the story
on the local radio and made our plans that very night to go to Mexico. I swear we would have made it if it wasn't for that shine. I got sick about the time we crossed that Kansas line. I was layin in the bar ditch prayin I would die when a light come on above us and a voice come from the sky.
A half a dozen unmarked cars came screeching to a halt they grabbed bob, he started screamin: "it was all my fault." There were men and dogs and helicopters buzzin all around, they had the brothers on the pickup hood and me down on the ground. Bob flew all to pieces but randy he held tight when a black man in a suit and tie stepped out into the light. He told his men to turn us loose they put down their guns. He said: "these are just some sorry kids, they ain't the ones." They left us by the roadside down hearted and alone, Randy got behind the wheel and said: "boys I'm going home." We turned around to face our fate
downhearted but alive on that mornin in late April, Oklahoma, 1998
