Excerpts from "The Road," by Woody Allen
By Ralph Gamelli

They walked the road, man and boy, amid the ruined land and blackened trees and the blowing clouds of ash. Soon they came upon a litter of decayed and rotted corpses.

I'm scared, Papa.

I know.

Are we going to die too?

There are worse things than dying. Have you ever been to a cocktail party?

The boy stopped and peered back down the road. There are people coming, he said.

The man drew his pistol. We have to get off the road and into the woods.

Maybe they're like us. Maybe they're the good guys.

We cant be sure.

Will they kill us?

Yes. And then they'll eat us. But why?

Because it's next to impossible to find food these days. Also, a dependable plumber.

I'm scared.

Let's hide.

Okay.

Okay.

#

They lay by their fire in the impenetrable darkness, huddled together in a filthy, ragged blanket. The boy fell asleep for a time and then awoke with a start.

I'm scared.

You were just dreaming. Tell me about it.

I dreamt that someone broke into our camp and tried to sell me a set of encyclopedias.

It was only a nightmare.

Okay.

Okay.

The boy's eyes gradually shut and once more he fell asleep. The man watched him for a long time and thought: He is the one good thing that is left in this world, assuming there are no longer any co-eds.

#

He woke in the dull morning light and pulled off the blanket and walked a distance from the camp. Bending over, he began to cough until he spat blood. When he returned to camp, the boy was awake and watching him.

I heard you, Papa. You're going to die, arent you?

No. Come on. We have to keep moving.

Okay.

They gathered their meager things and made their way back out to the road and trudged along it, slumped and shivering in their rags. They walked all day in silence through the world that could never be put back and then the man stopped and turned to the boy and said, Did I ever tell you about my Uncle Irving? Got fined for talking to an Armenian on the Sabbath.

——

Ralph Gamelli lives in a certain state, but won't say which one. He's been published before, but won't say where. He's got hobbies, but won't list them. He's even more mysterious on the subject of pets. Does he have any? There's no way to know. In short, reading this bio has been a complete waste of your time.

This piece first appeared in Monkeybicycle.

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