Dog Bite - Page 6

I am the type to drink too much. And that’s why they booked me the last time. Heather is hammered. And has gotten into some blow in the bathroom. Weekends Tavern. A sad little place across from the emergency room. She bums a smoke from the bouncer. Her hand brushing his as she pulls one from his pack. He lights it for her. Her skinny body canting toward his in the night. It’s cold. She likes getting attention when she’s hammered. I watch this from the bar through frosted glass painted with turkeys, for Thanksgiving, I guess. I’m mad and throw down another shot and leave out the back patio, start the truck, and head home. They get me on the 12 South. Red and blues flashing just a few down from our driveway. I guess they’re out there because my neighbor lit a burn pile, and somebody called it in. They handcuff me and everything. Take me in. I refuse all their bullshit tests. Now, I sat in the same room fifteen years later. I swore the same scratches were etched on the wall. The same crazy people holed up in the segregation units. The same young jail deputies. I mean they were different ones. But they all looked the same. At least Stevie would bond me out. At least I wouldn’t have to wait so long.