Cigarettes are never as fun as you think they’ll be when you light one up. Nothing but disappointment in a small package.
The full moon split the tree tops and I sat on the back patio facing the moonlight. I found her cigarettes where I thought they’d be, in the center of the dashboard. I popped the top of another cold one. It just felt like the thing to do.
The sound of passing semis on I-40, gearing down for the hill, making all kinds of noise. But to the truck drivers, it’s no different from any other hill between where they woke up and where they’re going to sleep. It’s after eleven at night, and they’re not allowed to drive more than nine hours. One wonders, just where could they be going at eleven fifteen pm?
The moon light splashed across the patio, the bricks on which my daughter played. She wouldn’t know I stood here and pissed in the lawn while she was sleeping. Or, so I told myself as I went inside.by