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    We quieted down. I made more noise on the flat: listening to the small creek that ran from the hillside above, cleaning out the plastic pipe plugged with leaves, my footsteps, birds, water, wind, shit-suction from my bowels popping into the neat two-by-eight foot trench, turning pages of the only book in the cabin. It featured Lhasa, Nepal, seat of two Buddhist statues and a guided tour of a monastery, just so many Frito chips.

Little Suze hugged Nat’s ponch, Meg wrapped her arms both of them.

   After a long, long time, the Trinity un-clung themselves. Nat and Meg went up to the loft bed while Suze stayed behind with Charm and me.

    “Wanna see something God would do?” I asked. Charm looked surprised, then said, “Okie-doki.”

    I pulled Charm out of her funk, ripped off the skaggy dress, she naked underneath, then took my clothes off, looked at Suze, her eyes large with fear, with curiosity, then pushed back her back on an old couch, stuck my dick into her, this I had done once before after I heaved the poor hippie down into the outhouse’s vortex. I needed great stimulus for the vastly overrated performance of sex, who needed it, war, what is it good for, and she, an epileptic, must have forgotten her meds, and as her legs wrapped around my waist, she began to shake uncontrollably, far harder and violently than from simple passion. Charm panted, her tongue stuck out going “Ag, Ag, Ag,” her teeth clamped down and a small, purple monster stared at me. Charm, whom I liberated from the scummy hippie, no longer merited worthiness, so I reached for my long blade Buck knife, and sliced off an inch-worth of tongue.

    Little Suze went, “Aww.” Charm, her head moving back and forth as a driver’s head might shake on the Salt Flats pushing the car as it broke the land speed record.

     “Any Dilantin in the house?” I asked. No answer.

    I climbed the loft and threw the tongue into Meg’s face. Before she reacted, I ran out, dragging Suze with me and knocked on Roy’s nearby trailer.
    He poured soy nuts into her open palms, and rubbed her cheek.

    Snow from yesterday melted. Roy took the slushy dirt lane and hooked a right on the road that led to town, his driving much improved after detoxification. Tire tracks made the snow dark.

    He eyed Suze. “I’ll get some ice cream sandwiches. You like them, Suze?” She liked.

    I decided enough social life and asked to stop at the base of the cliff. I stepped out of the car, Roy and Suze said bye and Roy’s hand gripped her knee. Roy attended local AA meetings. AA kept him sober but the downside was that he was straight and toed the group line. He would want more just as he wanted more red wine. Time for Uncle Lowell to depart.

    I hiked up the gully and climbed the cloven-goat path. The AM radio played Anne Murray’s “Lucky Me,” yearning to be loved, when will it be lucky me. I had eight ounces of filched placer nuggets I had not counted: Lucky me.

    I walked to the trench and left a trail of dark steps, then pissed. I traipsed back, Vibram sole boots made murky footprints traced in fresh snow, and soon sunset. Without the kerosene lamp, darkness numbed me to sleep.

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About George L. Sparling

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My worst job was working at Payless. The shipping clerk told me soon after the first week to take my hands out of my pockets. That Vioated my dignity, something I thought I didn't possess till that moment. I vowed to get even with that SOB. I stood atop a high pile of America's consumer gluttony, attempting to...read more rearrange the boxes. Wham, I got the ideal to shove some boxes down upon the SOB's head, standing nearby, filling out forms. When they fell upon his head, he wasn't hurt, though I made it clear that I had done that on purpose. I was fired later that day.
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