Blue Skies

At the Panamanian border Jack limped across the bridge with the woman and boy in tow. He hoped that it would be less stress than into Costa Rica. The bottle of Nica rum fit into his hind pocket covered by his shirt tail, he knew that he would need it shaking as he did. The hounds were on his heals and his cover was thin, he'd shaved and cut his locks but that fucking scar face of his would stick out like a sinner at church. They had been traveling with a group of Gypsy's but Jacks drunken misbehavior had the three of them ejected from the caravan. So there he was with a cut knee and broken ribs crossing the river bridge not to look back. The future was vague and the money thin, but with that bottle of Nica rum in his hind pocket, Jack owned the world under clear blue skies.