The Diamondback

It was straight out of a Glen Campbell song. Ever since he could walk, Mario was running. He was tired, but was too proud to admit this, most notably to himself, and felt that time was too precious a commodity to waste on frivolities like fatigue. This time, he up and went to disappear in the vast yellow of the South and Midwest. He took Mr. Campbell’s travel log and went the reverse route: Oklahoma, New Mexico, and Arizona. Only he had started his new life as a Scottsdale real estate agent, instead of settling down in Phoenix, as the tune suggested. One typically warm August morning, Mario sat at the edge of his bed, looked up at his bedside mirror, and sighed. “I’m done.” Cold, sweaty hands tried to steady their grip on even colder steel. That was the last we heard of him.