Once it became obvious he was not going to speak to her, she changed her tactic. “Come Here. Come here, Please.” Her voice becoming warmer, tr...ing to sooth his nerves. He eventually shuffled around the side of the bed, close to her face. She turned her eyes to look at him. His head turned sharply away from her, aimed at the door, but his eyes met her. He looked like a dog caught eating off the kitchen table. “Did you like looking at me? At my pussy?” She asked in her best school. Odd snatches of money had brushed past him, blown his way by some unforeseeable circumstance, without ever really settling. Money was just tumbleweed. Something in his brain told him being a farmer wasn’t for him. It wasn’t for anyone, really. Your fingers took an hour to get the blood back in winter, when the blizzards flew in from the mountains and thrashed at your hands. In summer, the sun stole your will to move, to think. He was damned if he was going to live like that. Instead, he gave up. More

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