work

by underswansea

He said he had been addicted to booze and cocaine. We were raking a hillside picking up stones. He was happy. He told me about his new wife and how she saved him. I wondered what it would be like to be saved. She loves him he’d say. He said, he’d go home and she would wait for him with everything he needs. I was happy for him.

Once he swatted a wasps nest, as big as a basketball, out of a fir. We ran like hell and neither of us got stung.

It made the work go by.

I’ve never been happy or unhappy. A year later he told the boss to go fuck himself. It was something that needed saying, he said. I agreed. He lost his job. I kept mine.

He couldn’t afford the cocaine, which really isn’t an addiction anyway. It’s a perk, he told me. He found the booze again. His new wife left him. Damned from the start he said.

There is always something you can afford.

I guess that’s the lesson.

As for the work.

It goes by slow.

snow

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