Fiction: Considering the Post Vietnam era.

                           In the post Vietnam era,...I frequented a pleasant hillside away from society. Beneath the Autumn sky,..and swaying branches,...I would make out disfigured portraits among the random cloud formations. I smoked my Camel straights and drank my whiskey black. Brown hair began to assemble upon my narrow bird chest. The world was a keyhole to a locked steel door that I somehow managed to peep through. Vivid daytime would hold my imagination captive with lucid imagery,.. while the world turned steadily in and out of my perception. It was then that I made a conscious decision to wear my jeans way too tight. Lust was my alias,...in the decade of black and white mediocrity.
                          I was the commercial billboard superfan,.. with my hair greased back along side the ongoing traffic. A freeway of afternoon fantasies dwindled to and fro between my naive thighs. I thought I was James Dean. In the evening I would climb down the crooked pathways back to the rural household that I resided in during that time. My grandmother's farm ranch. I had an uncanny knack for domesticating wild farm animals. Poultry just so happened to be my specialty. Upon going to bed,.. I would bring a dozen or so roosters with me,..  to my room for the night. Then underneath the covers,...magic would begin to unfurl.
                             I kept a lengthy poster of Marily Monroe above my bedside mantle. A shrine to the lifestyle I so badly desired. I began combing my hair with a rusty knife. The kids at my high school would mutter comments below their breath,..it was not their fault,. I was cut from  a different cloth. I was leather,..and they were simply cotton,..or at best polyesther. I was the French kiss king,..in the realm of bagged lunches. I would parade around the school hallways with mustard stains on my white undershirt. My confidence bursted immeasurably through the boiler room ceiling.
                         Cafeteria hour,...the show would begin. Eddy, Billy ,..Cheech (the Mexican boy),..and I had  three whole scenes of West Side Story down to a meticulous science. We would leave the cheerleaders breathless,..and horny,..leading them to stray away from their athletic boyfriends. I rode a womans bicycle everywhere,..it had the braided basket on front and everything.  I quickly befriended the local merchants at the conerstores,..they called me "Johnny Dukes",..I'd walk in doing the Fonzy walk and everthing,..we'd all go haaaay,..you know like the Fonz. Yeah things were good for a little while.