by Jason Rush
The first thing I notice is that goddamn old-timey music, Suwanee River or some shit.
I smell stale peanuts and beer. Also coal and dirt, but that’s always there. As much my fault as anyone’s.
I’m already seated. My head sags, and my hands rest on a small, oak table. Car keys and cell phone in front of me.
My head pounds.
“Guys?” Danny says across from me. My brow creases as I look up. He, Johnson and Huck sit around the table. My crew. Why are their hardhats still on? Dirty work clothes. Smudges of grime on their faces. And how the fuck did we get here? (Continue Reading…)