July 20, 1969
Somewhere in Wyoming
8 am
Ennis started transferring his gear—sleeping bag and knapsack—to the back of Jack’s truck. “Good ta see ya bud, good to see ya,” he said, leaning in and giving Jack a quick kiss.
“Good ta see ya too,” replied Jack. “A week campin in the summer, amazin! For once we won’t be out in the fuckin cold.”
Ennis reached into the cab of his truck and grabbed a transistor radio. “I hope we can get some reception up in the mountains,” he said, twisting the knob.
Jack looked at him, puzzled. “What, you suddenly become a music fan? You want ta go dancin with me or somethin?”
“No,” said Ennis. “Tonight’s the night. I want ta hear it on the radio since we won’t have a TV.”
“Night for what?”
“What the fuck, Jack, you live under a rock or somethin? That guy Armstrong is gonna step on the moon tonight, if all goes accordin’ ta plan.” He looked at the sky above his head. “I can’t hardly believe it…seems impossible ta believe a man is gonna be walkin on the moon.”
“You always did like the stars, Ennis, yer my star gazin friend,” Jack said, his voice wistful.
“Don’t you go getting all mushy on me now,” said Ennis. “Now git,” he added, smacking Jack smartly on the ass. “We gotta get up there and get some serious fuckin in before it gets ta be time ta listen to the radio.”
“Serious fuckin?” said Jack, looking over his shoulder and laughing. “Now I like the sound of that.”
(265 words)