by Alan Bardsley
Rod was awake long before the alarm and long after it sounded he sat unmoved, legs crossed under his faded flannel robe, smoking and coughing in the dark room until Frisco whined at him; then he slowly pulled himself up and shuffled toward the door. “I’ll be god-damned if she’s gonna get the dog,” he announced to the empty yellow kitchen as he shoveled coffee into a makeshift paper towel filter and pulled the last cigarette from a crumpled pack. Out of matches, he was bending toward the blue flame of the stove when the phone rang, “Rod where the hell are you, we got two loads showing up in twenty minutes and I’m all alone here?” “I’m not coming in Larry.” “Rod, it’s been over a month now, and it’s not like you’re the first guy that this has ever happened to, and well, hell, it’s not even the first time this has happened to you, so let her go man, they’re not even your kids – and I need you in here.” Rod coughed hard and replied, “Frisco wants in, I gotta go,” and he bent face-down to greet the flame.
Alan Bardsley, author of The Scene, was introduced to 6S by a friend. He likes it.