If you’re gonna rat me out to my boss then you can just go fuck yourself. And besides … there’s no way on god’s green earth I’ll ever tell you what I’m doin’ home on a weekday watchin’ the Maury show. Oh ya, there’s Springer too. And I’m praisin’ the lord god almighty for inventin’ the remote so’s I can flip from one t’other. I’ve got this beauty of a flatscreen I’ve mounted on the wall in my den with a bar fridge in the corner and my favourite sofa plunked square in front of everything so’s I can just lie there and watch and when I get thirsty I can reach over to the fridge and pull me out a can of somethin’ cold. Today’s the perfect day for this – warm enough so’s you can leave the window open and even enjoy a cool one now and then, but not so warm as you’d work up a sweat. Don’t want my sweat to mess up my favourite sofa. Funny how’s you can get attached to somethin’ like a piece of furniture. There’s nothin’ fancy about the sofa; in fact, I bet you’d never find anythin’ like it at the Art Shoppe – though I’ll never be absolutely sure seein’ as I pulled it from the garbage two streets over. They could’ve bought it from the Art Shoppe and just decided to change their decoratin’ scheme. Doesn’t matter where it come from anyhows. It’s mine now.
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I kin heah Jeb comin’ from a million miles away - or at least I kin heah his ATV.  I’m standin’ jus’ in from the road when he come out from the cornstalks agrinnin’ ‘n awavin’ like a fool with his dawg, Gopher, runnin’ behind.  He pulls up in fronna me and gits hisself off real stiff ‘n slow ‘n you kin tell he’s really feelin’ the arthritis today - maybe cuz it’s bin a li’l cooler’n usual these past few days.  It ain’t like the ol’ days when we was doin’ this - way back in the fifties.  We was teenagers then but now we’re in what they call the autumn years.  Er sunset years.  Er whatever years.

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