"Ladies, hold to your seats, we're going through hell"
It's Sunday, some four or five weeks after the funeral, and the guys are trying to re-create a Sunday ritual. Kinda like a family. Mark's driving and the others are getting drunk, quickly, in a near professional fashion. Actually it is that kind of drinking you engage in to avoid conversation. Mark tries to keep his occasional sips from a bottle to a minimum. Not only because he's in charge of getting everybody safe to their destination and back home, no-- recently he solemnly decided to go easy on the booze for some time (yeah, right).
When they finally get there the spirit's all gone. Shooting rats at the junkyard will probably never be the same again.
It's Sunday, some four or five weeks after the funeral, and the guys are trying to re-create a Sunday ritual. Kinda like a family. Mark's driving and the others are getting drunk, quickly, in a near professional fashion. Actually it is that kind of drinking you engage in to avoid conversation. Mark tries to keep his occasional sips from a bottle to a minimum. Not only because he's in charge of getting everybody safe to their destination and back home, no-- recently he solemnly decided to go easy on the booze for some time (yeah, right).
When they finally get there the spirit's all gone. Shooting rats at the junkyard will probably never be the same again.
