I’m impatient. Once, I
waited in the back of a cramped Chevy Astro, unable to fully stand, for
fifty-two hours. My only entertainment was Sudoku and back issues of
Newsweek. My only sustenance; canned albacore and Tang. The worst
moments were squatting over a five-gallon bright orange bucket from Home
Depot. Now, I can’t touch buckets without having gleeful, murderous
urges. That particular target received bright crimson pain. I
projected my fifty-two hours of discomfort onto his rumpled genitals, right
pinky, and both nipples before retiring him. Later that night, I cleansed
the noodle machine before making linguine. Red sauce.
Peter Beckstrom
Knockemstiff
Donald Ray Pollock