For Paul PSM

Use what you like or throw it in the can.

“Bitch”

My damned TV, I’ll watch what the fuck I want.

“For the 5^th  goddamned time, I could care less about your mother, so just shut the fuck up and go check on dinner.”

“We’ve been given our 3^rd and final notice on the car note. You had better figure out what we’re going to do. We can’t be without a car. You know I have to take my mom for her chemo every day.”

“Fuck your mom. Why doesn’t your loser brother step in and take some responsibility?”

“How could you be so damned cruel?”

“Shut your pie hole. I’ve heard all I can stand from you tonight.”

The box of Winchester 150 grain was sitting in the closet shelf. Right next to the bottle of Gentleman Jim I got for Christmas. I’ll grab both.

The door scraped over the carpet as Jerry opened up the closet. He reached in for rounds and a round to go around. Grabbed the lever action John Wayne Special as well.

“Tomorrow, since you aren’t busy looking for a job, we can take mom out to Hometown Buffet, then go the park.”

The park. The mutherfuckin park. Why in the hell would I ant to do that? Last time, someone had left a pile of syringes under the swings in the playground. Nice. The fuck I’ll go to the park.

“Jerry, I know you never got along with mom, but her SSI checks help pay our bills.”

Maybe I’ll keep getting those checks too. Long after her body is buried in my back yard.

“Jerry…Jerry…are you listening to a word I’ve said?”

Box opened, and Jerry’s pushing each round into the tube magazine. Finally, he ratchets back the bolt with the lever, then slams a bullet into the chamber.

“Val.”

“Yes honey?”

“Come on here a bit. I have something for you. Something special.”

“What is it Jerry?”

“You’ll have a hard time shifting and driving with just the one arm.”

Inside the house, the sound was deafening.