Sturgill

Morning sun. Fried eggs in the air. Screen door slam. Semiconsciousness.

Sturgill squinted, salivated, leaned over the rail, and blew chunks like a dog.

His niece hit the trailer door from inside. "Don't be barfin' on that walkway! I fuckin' walk there!"

Sturgill wiped the grits off his lips, immersed in reverie. What luck, finding his niece's ex's stash. Big ol' box of baseball cards. Sold 'em for $2000 at the sports card expo yesterday. Treated himself too. Horse, booze, God knows what were those pills. Still a thousand bucks left. Maybe he'd go see little Annie later. Been awhile since he... Heh. Yeah, he'd definitely pay Annie a visit.

Sturgill spit and looked up in gratitude. Life was good. The sun was warm. Breakfast hot. Sturgill slapped the back of his neck, then wiped a mosquito's bloody carcass off his hand. He shook his head, appreciating the ups and downs, yin and yang, all that shit. To think, fuck... wasn't even two days ago, he had a mind to kill himself.

11/12/2024