Its terribly cold outside. Seems to fit. The nights have been longer, but rest seems to elude me. This dark office gives some solace, a peace from broken familiar relationships. I think of the years gone past, those lost. Some hurt never goes away. Folks say it gets better with time. It don’t! Its worse when your people…
I remember riding up hwy 41 on a cold Friday evening, or an even colder Saturday morning, On those evening rides, I’d be drunk or drinking on a pint of Jacky D. Any morning I’d be hungover or coming down. But, regardless it felt like heading to a place of origin. Grandad would leave the garage unlocked for me. I never understood why they called it a garage, it would have been better described as a den, or even a man cave. That was where we spent most of our time when I was there. Playing dominoes, watching football, and drinking Miller Lite all day long. As soon as the sun went down the whiskey came out and we carried on playing and talking. Smoking cigarettes inside, only after Grandma went to bed. I didn’t realize then how our souls had been fused together in those moments.
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