Spiced Scribble

Gentle Reader,

The following scribbles are a consequence of a terrible adrenaline rush…

Colt was not smart.
Manual labor was all that he knew.

This did not bother him, nor was he particularly apprehensive about what this would mean for him in the long run. He knew that picking up boxes, and loading them was what got him enough cash to go drink with his boys at the end of the day.

Brushing shaggy dark brown hair out of his face, Colt lifted a box and placed it in the truck awaiting departure.

He needed to get it cut. His mom was coming to his house later today and she would surely nag him about it.

He picked up a box, placed it in the truck.

A breeze lapped, playing in his hair, teasing at his clothes–a simple cotton tee and rough jeans. He had forgotten his gloves. His mom would nag him about that too.

His hands slid protectively around a cube, hoisting it up, and then dropping it in the back of a truck. His hands, shadowed with lines, had been cut by the end of the box. He would have to bandage it or his mom would nag him.

food that provoked me: Sandwich–pumpernickel and rye bread, turkey, mayonnaise, and pepper-jack cheese song that inspired me: Justin Nozuka’s Unwoken Dreams (King with Everything) mood du jour: rainy

Adieu, Scribbler

 
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