Aviator sunglasses, thick curly beard with grimaced face and fists clenched ready. Black coffee breath hard yellow teeth and booming backwoods voice. Green plaid wool coat dirty stands stiff as snow gathers on the thick, worn wool, zipped halfway up with evident swagger (in the most unconscious form). Blues life wind thrown hair and wild eyes, dirty wranglers hugging muscular legs, and a veiny forearm that looked like an interstate map, hand connected was born to handle the saw. Steam rose from his mason jar of black coffee, forming rime ice on the plane wing he was standing below. Deicing the Cessna 180. The sky vomited wind into his face, he stood undaunted. The wind reminded him of his days riding freight. "Fuck this", he thought, looking at Bronson, his boss.
There was a railyard on the south end of Bear Lake, the northernmost yard in the contiguous N. American railway system, and thats where he damn well belonged.
Characterize yourself and where you think you'll be in 2050, in third person. I saw this shit in a vision, and I wanted to share it. Where do you see yourself in 40 years?
