Stingo Jones:

After busking outside a Pilot station in Gallup, NM for about 20 minutes, we wrote a song, earned 5 dollars & were offered a ride all the way to Barstow, CA by two kindly truck drivers named Al & Angel. They treated us to burger king, good conversation, machine rolled cigarettes & most importantly, our longest ride yet. We awoke to a southern california sunrise just outside the marine base Thrifty was stationed from ’06- ’09…

Fascist at the Gate

A True Californian Western Adventure

By: Thrifty Carmona

editor’s note: please tune in here fully experience this literary masterpiece

The desert sun peeked over Elephant mountain while leaving our Georgian truck home Sunday morning. Our tattooed road parents, Al and Angel, made the drive through the night by loading themselves with a steady supply of nicotine and Mountain Dew. They bid us farewell on the on ramp and we walked East toward our destiny.

Our heavy packs couldn’t stop the spring in our step as we walked to the entrance of Marine Corps Logistics Base Barstow, Calif. The gate was littered with concrete barriers and accented with a small guardshack featuring security cameras and a full sized bullet shield. A desert breeze chilled the air and as we came closer to the gate a police officer clad in black lumbered his way out of the shack.

“This isn’t Route 66!” snapped the bacon-scented man coldly.

“We’re here to see Corporal Brixtone,” said I evenly.

A tumbleweed gently rolled between us as we locked eyes. Slowly we reached for our canteens and brought them to our parched lips. He, quivering slightly, reaches his arm to his utility belt.

Our mouths, a dried desert of cigarette ash, diesel smoke and asphalt could not afford another second of thirst, but before the first drop of life-saving water left the plastic seal, the man in black raised his arm…

“What is THAT!?” squealed he, the tyrant gate-keeper, pointing at a rolled cigarette in Stingo’s left hand.

“This?” gesturing to the smoke, “This is an expertly rolled Bugler Original made from Turkish and blended tobacco. She continued, “Now this in my other hand,” She said raising the object to eye level.

“This is a custom made 1941 sawed-off double barrel 12-guage shotgun.”

The cop turned white and a small puddle of urine began to collect at his feet.

“Bella Ciao, motherfucker,” said Stingo as she squeezed the trigger.

She turned and lit her smoke as the man in black hit the ground.

“By the way fascist,” her smoke carried by the breeze, “this is Route 66.”

*disclaimer: only 96% of this story is true. you can decide what to believe.