WET HAM.
my hands still smelled like that wet ham. and i was trying to get the rats out of my hair.
"Why is this ham so wet?"
"It's a different kind."
"oh."
holidays bore us. (speak for yourself) ok, they bore me. so we wind up at the old dead place again. photo opportunity trip i guess.
"Mom, pop the hood."
"What? No. Let's just go home." (panicking)
i think they knew we were mocking the names engraved on their markers.
SACHS, GAY, PORN.
we stop off for chocolate pies. the hostess kind i didn't know my mother (no, mom. mother sounds old) disliked.
"What? Just eat it. Here.." (i'm pushing it at her).
"No. Give it to your Dad. He'll eat it."
so i slump in the seat the rest of the quarter of a mile we have until home. again.
"What's the speed limit in here?" (like i haven't driven on this road a million times before. like i just arrived from Mobile, Alabama. a foreigner in an oak tree 25mph zone. i was doing 37.)
my hands still smelled like that wet ham. the rolls were good. and i was trying to get the rats out of my hair.