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August 20, 2004
It’s Going To Be a PeenieWallie Night
I came to this morning in an un-remodeled 70's vintage chalet so far up Brook Forrest that I'm reasonably sure I was in Clear Creek County. Instinctively, I groped my lower back and checked for sutures. I'm reasonably sure that the spleen peddlers are just an urban legend, but it never hurts to check. My hands were dried, cracked, and cut. My nose was sunburned. To take stock, I began to rummage through my pockets. Although I don't smoke, for some reason I had a half a pack of Marlboro Lights and two packs of matches in my breast pocket from Cactus Jacks and the Little Bear, each missing about half the matches. I couldn't find my Palm Pilot, my cell phone, or my credit card, but I located my elk bloodstained army field jacket in the dining room.
I glanced around the house and tried to take it all in. The large metal cross over the fireplace, the dark wood timbers, the 14" color television. The couch was covered by a tattered white blanket thrown over it to make the dog hair more obvious. The brown shag carpet was stained as if someone had field-dressed a deer on it.
Resting on the kitchen counter, a dozen underexposed 3" x 5" color glossy photographs documented two mongrel dogs playing on the stained rug. One was a large mutt with long, black hair that looked like a cross between a Black Lab and a Husky. I had a vague recollection of him from when I had arrived in the wee hours of the morning. I rummaged through the refrigerator and pilfered a plastic bottle of Coke. I made a mental note to point out to the woman that she would be well served to switch to Diet Coke.
For the rest of the story buy my book "Killing Strangers.
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Posted by Peenie Wallie on August 20, 2004 at 01:25 PM
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