Connecticut. He'll never know exactly where, all he knows is what happened.
He was dropped off out in the middle of nowhere by a severely angry truckie. That didn't happen often, but it did happen. It happens because a truckie gets bored with the conversation or he's as high as a kite or he's paranoid about something or he's a complete asshole. Bishman thought he was probably a combination of all these.
He walked ten, maybe twelve miles in the bitter cold and, despite his heavy jacket, he had to walk briskly to keep warm. The moon was full and the stars were bright and as he walked along, he spotted six falling stars. Huh, some consolation!
Bishman heard the noise way before he actually reached it - metallic, droning and constant. The nearer he got, the louder the noise got. Eventually he reached a junction off the main road. By now, the noise was getting painfully loud. A few hundred yards down the junction, he discovered an immense train yard. There must have been at least a hundred trains there, all big diesels, all running their engines to stop them from freezing up. Bishman remembered he'd read that during the war they ran the big tank engines every hour to keep them warm, sometimes they'd have to leave them running all night. If engine oil gets too thick you can never start the cumbersome engines again - especially the enormous diesel engines they use on trains.
A huge pall of oily smoke hung in the air, a powerful, solitary lamp casting grotesquely-shaped shadows over the yard, like a scene from hell. The din was horrendous; the belching of the exhaust, the detonation of the actual firing of individual cylinders and the metallic knocking of engine parts that diesels tend to make, all combined to make one unique, deafening rumble.
But there was no one around. That made the whole thing even more awesome. The moon and one lamp lighting up the place, an ungodly din, and the place was deserted. Spooky !
Bishman thought he'd snoop around and find somewhere warm to sleep the night, then push on in the morning. The thought even crossed his mind to go by train, there were enough of them.
"Hey you, fella, what are you up to?" Bishman was taken by surprise. The guy was about six foot two and about two hundred and fifty pounds. Really ugly. If you'd seen him you'd know we'd descended from apes. The security officer summoned Bishman to the office for questioning. Bishman realized the truth was as good a story as any. "You sure you ain't lying to me, fella?" The guard asked in a relaxed and friendly manner.
"No of course I'm not fuckin' lying to you. How the hell do you think I got here, fuckin' parachute'?" Bishman took out his cigarettes, lit one and, as an afterthought, passed one over. The guard took the cigarette and lit it with a large table lighter from a desk that was full of paraphernalia.
Bishman rubbed his hands together to warm himself over the electric heater and said, "Anyway, you know what the three biggest lies in the world are?"
"No, go on," said the guard.
"I won' t put it in if it hurts, I won' t come in your mouth, and the check's in the mail." They both laughed and the guard put on some coffee.
"Yeah, I've heard it before but I can only ever remember two, I always forget the last one."
The guard made coffee in brightly glazed mugs. Bishman added his own milk and eight sugars, which shocked the security officer.
Bishman burped. "Did you hear the one about the old prossie?"
The security officer stirred his coffee and drew deeply on his cigarette.
"No, go on," he said.
"Fucking old prostitute had worn out her pussy and was starting to get complaints from her johns. They complained that her pussy was so big they couldn't feel anything. So she went to her pimp. 'No problem,' he told her. 'All prostitutes wear their pussies out sooner or later. All you have to do is get it rebushed.' The old prossie wanted to know how, so he told her.
"You buy a large leg of ham from the butcher's with a bone that
He was dropped off out in the middle of nowhere by a severely angry truckie. That didn't happen often, but it did happen. It happens because a truckie gets bored with the conversation or he's as high as a kite or he's paranoid about something or he's a complete asshole. Bishman thought he was probably a combination of all these.
He walked ten, maybe twelve miles in the bitter cold and, despite his heavy jacket, he had to walk briskly to keep warm. The moon was full and the stars were bright and as he walked along, he spotted six falling stars. Huh, some consolation!
Bishman heard the noise way before he actually reached it - metallic, droning and constant. The nearer he got, the louder the noise got. Eventually he reached a junction off the main road. By now, the noise was getting painfully loud. A few hundred yards down the junction, he discovered an immense train yard. There must have been at least a hundred trains there, all big diesels, all running their engines to stop them from freezing up. Bishman remembered he'd read that during the war they ran the big tank engines every hour to keep them warm, sometimes they'd have to leave them running all night. If engine oil gets too thick you can never start the cumbersome engines again - especially the enormous diesel engines they use on trains.
A huge pall of oily smoke hung in the air, a powerful, solitary lamp casting grotesquely-shaped shadows over the yard, like a scene from hell. The din was horrendous; the belching of the exhaust, the detonation of the actual firing of individual cylinders and the metallic knocking of engine parts that diesels tend to make, all combined to make one unique, deafening rumble.
But there was no one around. That made the whole thing even more awesome. The moon and one lamp lighting up the place, an ungodly din, and the place was deserted. Spooky !
Bishman thought he'd snoop around and find somewhere warm to sleep the night, then push on in the morning. The thought even crossed his mind to go by train, there were enough of them.
"Hey you, fella, what are you up to?" Bishman was taken by surprise. The guy was about six foot two and about two hundred and fifty pounds. Really ugly. If you'd seen him you'd know we'd descended from apes. The security officer summoned Bishman to the office for questioning. Bishman realized the truth was as good a story as any. "You sure you ain't lying to me, fella?" The guard asked in a relaxed and friendly manner.
"No of course I'm not fuckin' lying to you. How the hell do you think I got here, fuckin' parachute'?" Bishman took out his cigarettes, lit one and, as an afterthought, passed one over. The guard took the cigarette and lit it with a large table lighter from a desk that was full of paraphernalia.
Bishman rubbed his hands together to warm himself over the electric heater and said, "Anyway, you know what the three biggest lies in the world are?"
"No, go on," said the guard.
"I won' t put it in if it hurts, I won' t come in your mouth, and the check's in the mail." They both laughed and the guard put on some coffee.
"Yeah, I've heard it before but I can only ever remember two, I always forget the last one."
The guard made coffee in brightly glazed mugs. Bishman added his own milk and eight sugars, which shocked the security officer.
Bishman burped. "Did you hear the one about the old prossie?"
The security officer stirred his coffee and drew deeply on his cigarette.
"No, go on," he said.
"Fucking old prostitute had worn out her pussy and was starting to get complaints from her johns. They complained that her pussy was so big they couldn't feel anything. So she went to her pimp. 'No problem,' he told her. 'All prostitutes wear their pussies out sooner or later. All you have to do is get it rebushed.' The old prossie wanted to know how, so he told her.
"You buy a large leg of ham from the butcher's with a bone that
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