A cigarette burns in the dark. Orange glow of the butt dances around the room. A beer can is popped open. Foamy liquid drips on the floor. Nobody bothers to clean it up. It is silent and Bobby takes a seat on the folding chair, looking at his dad lying on the couch. The old man drools and tosses under the blanket.

You were never any good, Bobby says. Lazy. Just plain lazy, he whispers. Bobby drinks from the Old Style can and gurgles it in his mouth while walking over to the old man. He then stands over him and spits it out on his face.

What the hell? the old man yells. Bobby laughs like a child on a playground. He takes another swig and spits it out at his pop again. Boy, dad yells. You better stop if you know what’s good for you. The old man sits up and looks around. Where am I? he asks. What are you doing here?

Just thought I’d pay you a visit, Bobby says. Thought I’d see how the other half lives.

What other half is that?

You old man. The local gentry.

Huh. Is that so? Hand me one of those beers. If you would. I always wake up thirsty. Always a dry mouth. Like I got cotton in it.

A cotton mouth?

Yeah.

Like the snake?

I don’t know about that. They both laugh. Yeah. A cotton mouth. Why you think they call them cotton mouths?

Don’t know. Bobby tosses the old man a beer. He clumsily catches it. Looks at the can. It’s sweating. The old man runs his fingers over it.

You could’ve just handed it to me, the old man says. Like a white person.

Bobby laughs. They both sit there drinking. Not saying a word. Light is coming through the windows. A dove begins to sing. Some old frog is croaking. Mice scurry across the floor. Neither one of them  notice.

Let’s talk, dad. Let’s talk about something real. You wanna do that? Talk about something real. The old man guzzles more beer. He looks at Bobby. He drinks more.

Why do you come here? Do you enjoy torturing me? Your mother tortures me.

Tortured, dad. Past tense.

Whatever. She makes me feel like a fool. But, I still love her.

You loved her?

I do. Present tense.


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