Keywords: Sweatshirt, Cowboy, Vitriol
The old farmer smells turpentine and sex: like bologna and mayo sandwiches warmed in the sun. He tilts his straw hat, pulls a pickle from his pocket and munches. "A-yup," he says with vitriol. "They been diddlin' in my shed." The stained mattress tells the story. A soiled sweatshirt sits near the tractor, likely used to mop up. Old Joe loads the shotgun. It's always the same. He's filled three ditches with traveling salesmen, lawyers, cowboys. He's filled the barn with cars that "broke down" or "ran out of gas." Thinking of his three beautiful daughters, Farmer Joe whistles. It's time.
Preview for tomorrow: Brie, Cadence, Metallic