“Hey,” I said. She turned around, shifted her purse to the other shoulder. “Yeah?” “I didn’t notice it before, but you walk with a limp. It isn’t gout, is it?” She smiled and walked back to me. She kissed me on the cheek, then limped away. I lit another cigarette and ordered another beer. I smoked cigarettes and drank beer until my lungs were on fire, my throat paved with hot coals. Then I smoked and drank some more. When I got home, there was a note from my wife on the kitchen table. “Gone gun shopping,” it said. She never came home. Then again, I could never really figure out why she’d hung around so long in the first place.
Crack the Spine - Issue 167
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