Hey Chief (2)

   
   "Hey Chief (2)"
    
   Paul piloted his CRF 250 Honda, a dual sport cycle to the edge of a cliff in his native Arkansas; next, he cranked the motor off, unseated himself, and looked around at the animal-haunted nature of his woodland scenario, spotting the Totem of a fleeing skunk.  A lonely barber, having embraced dandyism, yet as redneck as they make them, putting some chaw inside his oral cavity and giving it a big spit, wishing he had a bottle of Southern Comfort; also, the respect of people--well, at least Mexicans hadn't thieved away his job; still, nobody respected a Caucasian barber.
   He figured that he should lose the mustache and shirts with a collar, unless they were flannel, but that would prove only the regularity of normality.  After all, what do they say in these back-wood hills he knew: "It's freaking Arkansas fella--same shit happens."