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I’m supposed to fly to Sour Lake tomorrow, Birthplace of Texaco, Home of the Hawks. On the one hand I have to. I am broke, after all. But on the other hand I don’t want to. I just want to know how I can possibly deal. I guess it all started because I went to this private university where they handed out pre-approved credit cards in front of the student union. I swear, they were way too easy to get, especially if you like magazines. Me, I just graduated with a creative writing degree, so I’ve thought about writing the people that’ll soon be after me. I’ve thought about telling them, creatively of course, that I don’t have their money and if they’ll just be nice about the whole thing I’ll promise to never do it again. But from what I understand Corporate America doesn’t work that way. Shit. I can tell you how World War One started in excruciating detail, but not what I did with seventeen thousand dollars, plus or minus some financing. And so now I have to go back to Sour Lake and work register at my uncle’s ag-supply store. Manure. Manure. I have no idea how you can be happy when you’re calling for a price check on manure. I feel a presence beside me so I pull my eyes away from the thing of ramen in my hand and turn to look. I don’t know how long she’s been there looking at me. The buzzing of the fluorescent lights has kind of made me disoriented; same with the sound of the Slurpee machine. “I’d go for the black bean soup thing,” she says. I look down at her Kangaroo tennis shoes and her pink socks and her too-short black jeans. Together with a green zip-up sweatshirt, she looks like a young me: the shoes the same as those I kept

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Profile for dave housley

Barrelhouse Issue One  

Features include new fiction from Stacey Richter, an essay by Steve Almond, an interview with Emmylou Harris, and lots of other great stuff....

Barrelhouse Issue One  

Features include new fiction from Stacey Richter, an essay by Steve Almond, an interview with Emmylou Harris, and lots of other great stuff....

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