A Night of Yowling Dogs
Copyright 2011 by Henri Bauhaus
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Lewis Clarkson drove his V-8 black Ford pickup all the way from Brooklyn, New York to Ute Flats, Colorado. After the 48-hour marathon voyage that fell short of the original destination of Portland, Oregon, Lewis somehow ended up at the gravel parking lot of the Blue Spruce Zen Center. Underneath canyon walls that were lit up like a fire of hot embers, an exhausted young man eased his ride up to the side of the former motel and promptly fell asleep. The rays of the rising sun did nothing to break the deep sleep of Lewis, as he lay comfortably stretched out on the front seat of his cab.
Twelve hours later at precisely eight o’clock in the evening, Lewis awoke from his restful repose and checked himself into the nearly-emptyspiritual retreat. Marisa Suri, the new manager of the Blue Spruce took the money for a week’s stay directly from Lewis and stuffed it the front pocket of her tight blue jeans.