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.
Donald Ray Pollock