Earth
Denny was sick of digging graves. Sick of backhoes and shovels. Sick of
Keith, his co-digger. Sick of waiting to fill in the hole and waiting at a
respectable distance away from grieving families. He especially hated
when the holes were small, child-sized and easier to dig. He thought they
should be the hardest of all to dig, but they weren’t. What’s a guy to do in a
world like that?
Water
The boss had warned Denny not to show up drunk again or half-drunk or
hungover. But Denny hated digging the damp, moldy dirt. What else was a
guy to do except fill up his water bottle with vodka. He always made sure
the bottle looked new and freshly opened so Keith wouldn’t suspect. It
worked until the day it didn’t.
Air
When Denny passed out while waiting a respectable distance from the
grave-hole of a firstborn daughter who liked acrobatics and lemon cookies;
Keith thought he was dead. Truth was, Denny had opened his second
bottle of vodka-water, maybe even three and had gulped it down. Keith with
no cellphone of his own had sprinted over to the parents of the tiny dead
girl, hollering for help to revive his pal. The parents, steeped in their grief,
had rallied to his side. The ambulance carried Denny away, definitely not
dead.
Fire
The boss has no choice but to terminate Denny’s employment. Keith’s, too.
No one should disturb the mourners no matter what happened, especially
not for a ne’er do well drunk like Denny. At the hospital, they treated Denny
for alcohol poisoning which knocked his heart out of whack which put him
on oxygen. They told him not to smoke, but when the newly unemployed
Keith sneaked in with cigarettes and beer so they could drown their sad
sloppy sorrows, what else was a guy to do?
Denny was sick of digging graves. Sick of backhoes and shovels. Sick of
Keith, his co-digger. Sick of waiting to fill in the hole and waiting at a
respectable distance away from grieving families. He especially hated
when the holes were small, child-sized and easier to dig. He thought they
should be the hardest of all to dig, but they weren’t. What’s a guy to do in a
world like that?
Water
The boss had warned Denny not to show up drunk again or half-drunk or
hungover. But Denny hated digging the damp, moldy dirt. What else was a
guy to do except fill up his water bottle with vodka. He always made sure
the bottle looked new and freshly opened so Keith wouldn’t suspect. It
worked until the day it didn’t.
Air
When Denny passed out while waiting a respectable distance from the
grave-hole of a firstborn daughter who liked acrobatics and lemon cookies;
Keith thought he was dead. Truth was, Denny had opened his second
bottle of vodka-water, maybe even three and had gulped it down. Keith with
no cellphone of his own had sprinted over to the parents of the tiny dead
girl, hollering for help to revive his pal. The parents, steeped in their grief,
had rallied to his side. The ambulance carried Denny away, definitely not
dead.
Fire
The boss has no choice but to terminate Denny’s employment. Keith’s, too.
No one should disturb the mourners no matter what happened, especially
not for a ne’er do well drunk like Denny. At the hospital, they treated Denny
for alcohol poisoning which knocked his heart out of whack which put him
on oxygen. They told him not to smoke, but when the newly unemployed
Keith sneaked in with cigarettes and beer so they could drown their sad
sloppy sorrows, what else was a guy to do?
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