Rance is eating in a restaurant when he sees a girl ,obviously hitchhiking, get out of the car, carrying a guitar case and then coming to the restaurant. As he's leaving he tells the waitress to buy her  a hamburger because all she asked for was water . Then he goes out to his van
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The guy with the large helium balloon floating over his head was saying something as he closed the distance between us on this crowded bustling Street. The people, for some reason, kept raising their faces to stare at me with lonely ,beseeching  eyes as they scurried by ,then instantly dropping their gaze back to the ground as they quickly continued on.
    " State of my..... state of my ....state of my head....".said the balloon man as he drew near me and I couldn't help wondering why the words weren't appearing in the balloon that bounded along ,dancing chaotically, in lock-step to the dance-like movement of his pace "state of my head ."  
    Unlike the other people who passed by, he never looked at me -in fact- he didn't seem to notice anything except the zone right in front of his next step .  
       "You're legs on fire!"
     "I could still hear the echo of his chant as it, and him, bebopped into the obscurity of the distance, suddenly becoming aware of the barren and empty street , and the fire that was burning my right thigh.
    "Your leg's on fire"  now these words did appear in symbolic cartoon measure across the face of the balloon. "Hey!"I  cried out and then heard the echo of the words as they came sailing back.
   "Hey!"
    "Finally waking up I see" continued the echo as it became a soft laughter-filled sound to my ears.
     Slowly I was  becoming aware that my vision was filling in with the world outside the windshield of my van. The last stanza of Shinedowns state of my head was just fading from the radio as.....
    "Thanks for the burger"
My leg WAS on fire. Okay , it wasnt really,but it was burning above the knee of my right leg from the sunlight streaming through the windshield.      
  I was busy patting out the fire and rubbing the sleep from my eyes when I heard the voice again "Hello?"
     Now though, it was a real voice ,as it came sailing through the window of my van. A female voice.
     A bit slow maybe, but I was finally beginning to catch up, so I knew before I even looked, that it was the girl with the guitar case.
    It was. As I peered over the door frame I saw that she was sitting three feet from the van, on a patch of grass and leaning back against the big oak that grew at the edge of the parking lot and had provided a nice shade for storm ....okay and for my nap.        
     Surely the crooked -and haltingly, embarrassment driven - smile that I managed to conjure up ,as I looked out the window and down at her, was totally inadequate.  I was attempting to move past it , so with great confidence ,and sua da vi I heard my words as I said.
   "Huh? "  oh god !My brain said to my inner voice "really smooth" --- my inner voice took the fifth.  
     "That's a heck of a watch dog you've  got " she said.  Somehow breaking the ice  and allowing me space and time to regroup. " He told me he was there , aware and in charge as I approached your window,but he did it by just raising his eyes and the slightest rumbling growl. It was obvious he was serious but he was so cool about it"      
   I reached ,almost ,unconsciously, to stroke Storms muzzle and the furrow between his ears. "Yeah, " I said " He's got style alright." as more than a bit of pride tinged my words.
    Her laughter was sudden and as free as a wild bird being released from the confines of a cage as it rose up into the air.It was one of those beautiful,,natural
voices of those rare people who are not embarrassed by their own spontaneity.
   "Style " she managed to exclaim among the peals of joy " I love that"
     " Hi" I told her " I'm Rance and my stylin friend is Stormy"
      Her movements were quick, agile and graceful as she bounded to her feet , quickly wiping any perceived dust from her right palm across the hip area of her jeans before reaching out to shake hands.  "I'm Penelope Woods , but everyone back home just called me Piney"
     Now it was my time to laugh. A slight chuckle accompanied my hand as  I reached out to collect hers . " Piney Woods ...now that funny. "
    " Why ,thank you kind sir " she exclaimed with the exaggerated imitation of southern gentellity " I've always thought so"  then that freebird laughter , again came rising up ,to float over and then slide all the way down into the hollow,unused places of my heart . Settling there as though it were home......Maybe it was.

What a fool to have loved, and love again.
To walk through puddles indoors,
Just to step outside onto hardwood floors.
With an ache in his step,
And a wonder like a child's,
Will he ever realize,
Somethings in life just aren't worth while.
With each moment collapsing,
Of and ***** so taxing,
One can only wonder,
is there something wrong...
...with him,
Or her,
With love or life?
Why do the best things make it hard to sleep at night?
Why does his greatest joy always carry such sorrow.
Rivers over flooded, no hope for tomorrow.
A future so elegantly constructed and nurtured in his mind,
Slowly deteriorates with every second of time.
Passing is the wind, the day, the night.
Faces swimming in a sea of numbers,
But destined to walk alone toward his grave.
Buried alive he screams for mercy,
And prays,
To a love he can't fully explain,
In hope for some clarity and guidance,
For matters one in the same.
But stationed on this plane of existence,
At this moment,
wandering in pain.
He musters up enough courage and drive
So as to reclaim,
That confidence that once was,
To carry him to his loves embrace.
Is he a fool?
Yes...
But he wouldn't have it any other way.