weedsofgrace
A fluorescent bulb flickered sleepily over the paper goods aisle. It was 3am, and the lone clerk up front nodded off perched on her elbows. The man in the aisle, perusing the paper towel rolls, decided he liked this light.
We coast along the verse, and into the lilting chorus. It's so happy to reach it again, and again, and after the bridge as well. A rising crescendo. A happy tune. A wonderful melody.
With the deadbolt turned, I felt safe. With the huge TS rubber boots in front of it, I felt safer. Add the lightbulb in front of the door? Safest. This is the way it should be. I am safe here.
I turned into the driveway against my better judgement. The trailer sat up on the hill, peeling and lonely. Dogs, many dogs, can bounding down the hill, barking up a storm. Please don't let me hit one, I breathed, fearing the man who lived inside, who surely owned a shot gun. Or five.