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CHAPTER 10: 13 AUGUST 1970 STAGING-2
The sky grayed. The silhouette of mountains to the west turned green-black where the lifting darkness accentuated ridges yet remained jet-black in the canyons. Within the ravines darkness still hung. Laconic chats and extended grumbles disrupted the close silence, the tiring rest. Doc was suffering hangover pains and pains from the lump on the back of his head and the laceration on his forehead. The thought of the open wound irritated him. “What a sucka. Man, a cut’s a real sucka. Fuckin helmet rub it and keep it open for all them bacteria. Mothafucka gonna get infected. Can’t wear no fuckin helmet.” Doc tied his helmet to the top of his rucksack, shook the pack to be sure the helmet was secure and that it would not rattle when he walked. “That a good cut, Doc,” Jax said. “Wish I had a c
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