way before it lands on my foot and then I boot over a couple other easy ones.
Past the cemetery, right across the road, sits a large metal dumpster. I 'm done my last cigarette so I hold the glowing end to the empty package until it ignites. When I toss it in, I aim for a pile of newspapers. Too lazy to recycle? Time to pay the price.
It 's already smoldering and flames will be visible soon. Awesome.
I wait around a few minutes until I see a steady line of gray smoke. Spreading cheer everywhere I go, I 'm like freakin' Santa Claus.
The car is three blocks up, where I left it and I retrieve the keys from under the floor mat like everyone else in this town. I drive down the back alleys, park the car and toss the keys back under the mat. I 've been driving since I was eight but sometimes I want a set of wheels that no one knows. The old guy here never notices, as long as I leave it in the same spot. I'm good at that.
It 's a short walk to my place but it's almost dawn when I get home. I still need a beer so I go into the shed and grab one from the little fridge. A nice cold Bud is a luxury I truly enjoy. I park my ass on a wooden stool by the work bench and the first few swallows go down real nice.
It 's been a long time since I did any work in here so I pull a drawer open and look at the scalpels, fleshing blades and shears. They are still as shiny as the first time I held them in my hands. A metal cabinet holds fiberglass forms for a bobcat and a fox that arrived mail order a long time ago. A tight row of taxidermy chemicals lines the top shelf and I face all the labels to the front so I can read them. The newer ones in plastic bottles are clearly labeled and I run my finger along the acids, degreasers, and deodorizers. There are a few dark glass bottles with labels long worn off and I've forgotten what they were. Maybe I never knew in the first place. They intrigue me and I open one to take a sniff. It smells like always and burns my nose a little. I put it back.
The mounted head of a five-point white-tail deer stares through glass eyes down at me from its permanent spot on the wall. It's not a bad job but not my work. I avoid looking at the dust-covered muskrat in the corner. That one was mine. The face is distorted, the eyes are all wrong, and I hate that thing but I can't bring myself to throw it in the burning barrel.
I remember when I tried to skin a squirrel at the age of six. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I 'd found it already dead by the road and thought I was doing a great job until I caught holy hell for it. In hindsight, it was a pretty pathetic attempt. I've done a few critters since then but I don't think it's really my thing. Maybe I don't have the patience, or maybe I'm too lazy, and things never worked out. I still like to come out and make sure everything is still here, just in case.
I finish my beer and trudge over to the house. If I get my ass to bed, I can probably still catch a few hours of sleep. As I drift off, my mind goes back to those bitches. They had better keep their noses out of my business.
CHAPTER FIVE
It took quite a bit of convincing on Allie's part for Erin to go to work today. She was fine. Really. Just had too much to drink. Didn't want to talk about it. She would curl up with the pets on the sofa and relax. Fiona had been overly attentive to her and that was probably the best thing. Before she went to work, she promised to go to yoga and recharge her batteries.
Last night, Erin had lain awake alone in their bed for a long time before she fell asleep. She 'd slept but she sure didn't feel rested this morning, even after her coffee. She set and then double-checked the alarm before she left the house. She stretched her shoulders against the new bruise directly on the point of her scapula. It had been a bright red welt when she'd seen it in the mirror. Someone had a pretty good arm.
Erin tossed her lunch bag into the coffee room
Past the cemetery, right across the road, sits a large metal dumpster. I 'm done my last cigarette so I hold the glowing end to the empty package until it ignites. When I toss it in, I aim for a pile of newspapers. Too lazy to recycle? Time to pay the price.
It 's already smoldering and flames will be visible soon. Awesome.
I wait around a few minutes until I see a steady line of gray smoke. Spreading cheer everywhere I go, I 'm like freakin' Santa Claus.
The car is three blocks up, where I left it and I retrieve the keys from under the floor mat like everyone else in this town. I drive down the back alleys, park the car and toss the keys back under the mat. I 've been driving since I was eight but sometimes I want a set of wheels that no one knows. The old guy here never notices, as long as I leave it in the same spot. I'm good at that.
It 's a short walk to my place but it's almost dawn when I get home. I still need a beer so I go into the shed and grab one from the little fridge. A nice cold Bud is a luxury I truly enjoy. I park my ass on a wooden stool by the work bench and the first few swallows go down real nice.
It 's been a long time since I did any work in here so I pull a drawer open and look at the scalpels, fleshing blades and shears. They are still as shiny as the first time I held them in my hands. A metal cabinet holds fiberglass forms for a bobcat and a fox that arrived mail order a long time ago. A tight row of taxidermy chemicals lines the top shelf and I face all the labels to the front so I can read them. The newer ones in plastic bottles are clearly labeled and I run my finger along the acids, degreasers, and deodorizers. There are a few dark glass bottles with labels long worn off and I've forgotten what they were. Maybe I never knew in the first place. They intrigue me and I open one to take a sniff. It smells like always and burns my nose a little. I put it back.
The mounted head of a five-point white-tail deer stares through glass eyes down at me from its permanent spot on the wall. It's not a bad job but not my work. I avoid looking at the dust-covered muskrat in the corner. That one was mine. The face is distorted, the eyes are all wrong, and I hate that thing but I can't bring myself to throw it in the burning barrel.
I remember when I tried to skin a squirrel at the age of six. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I 'd found it already dead by the road and thought I was doing a great job until I caught holy hell for it. In hindsight, it was a pretty pathetic attempt. I've done a few critters since then but I don't think it's really my thing. Maybe I don't have the patience, or maybe I'm too lazy, and things never worked out. I still like to come out and make sure everything is still here, just in case.
I finish my beer and trudge over to the house. If I get my ass to bed, I can probably still catch a few hours of sleep. As I drift off, my mind goes back to those bitches. They had better keep their noses out of my business.
CHAPTER FIVE
It took quite a bit of convincing on Allie's part for Erin to go to work today. She was fine. Really. Just had too much to drink. Didn't want to talk about it. She would curl up with the pets on the sofa and relax. Fiona had been overly attentive to her and that was probably the best thing. Before she went to work, she promised to go to yoga and recharge her batteries.
Last night, Erin had lain awake alone in their bed for a long time before she fell asleep. She 'd slept but she sure didn't feel rested this morning, even after her coffee. She set and then double-checked the alarm before she left the house. She stretched her shoulders against the new bruise directly on the point of her scapula. It had been a bright red welt when she'd seen it in the mirror. Someone had a pretty good arm.
Erin tossed her lunch bag into the coffee room
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