Voltaic Junkyard--anchors aweigh

   
   "Voltaic Junkyard--anchors aweigh"
   
   Adam didn't quite comprehend the HAPPY DAYS episode during which Ralph Malph was cruelly criticized for wanting to be a sailor, get a grappling hook, wear stripes, and have a Primary Military Specialty of Gunner's Mate.  Nothing gets a woman more loose in the loins than the Cracker Jack uniform, unless all they want is the money; then, they marry an officer, and the UFO didn't even bother to talk with the F-18 pilot off the coast of California, yet it talked to Ezekiel--wonder why?
   Of course Adam knew they'd call him mentally ill anyway.  Yet attorneys everywhere take Lexapro, Effexor, Xanax; next, wash it down with a bottle of Dago Red every night; then, give people bullshit, grope women, and are celebrated for serving the Lord of the Apes--where is Tarzan when you need him?
   Adam knew he wasn't like Sheila.  So special.  Built for war.  A conductor.  Still, he had couth; moreover, just a down on his luck guy with a comic book collection and a duty of hubcaps and more hubcaps; plus, socket wrenches and all the rest.  He didn't know if he wanted to leave the junkyard or not.  It was his home.  Sheila was his sister, angelic as she was, and always in her prime, ready to give him a quicksilver defense at a moment's notice; indeed, she would always make mercurial haste to save his bacon.  What a girl.
   He owed her.  Too, he owed himself.  But more importantly, he knew he was put here to please God; thus, he contemplated how to do that, drinking a Bud Heavy and glaring at the neon-cheese of a Motherly Moon.