Beginning of the Storm

There’s a storm rolling in tonight on the East Coast. People tend to freak out when a few inches of snow are expected. They bull rush the grocery store to stock up on non-perishable items lest they get snowed in for a week’s worth of On-Demand. I avoid this scene like the plague.

Public places demand vigilance and attention to detail. I commit multiple rows of license plates to memory to check for a tail. I memorize what hand people use to lock their car or pick up a can of soup so I know what side is dominant in case they come at me with a weapon. Too many cars, too many people, too many chances to make a mistake. Even awesomeness is cognizant of its limits.

I steer clear of the mega-food-brouhaha and head out to Gary’s Tree and Limb Service. I have a package to pickup.

Gary clears fallen trees, splits the wood and sells someone’s nuisance as another’s treasure. His office is a converted trailer sitting amongst piles of mulch, sand, gravel and mixed hardwood—all for sale.

I enter through the front. To my right is Gary, smoking behind some reclaimed Salvation Army office desk. To my right is an extremely large black man. He’s too clean cut to be working on the machinery; he’s employed for other purposes.

“How much to fill the back of my truck with split oak?”

“Hundred. Go ‘round back, away from the road. The wood there is more seasoned.”

The five twenties I hand him ignore the register completely and instead delve straight into his vest pocket. It’s not like I work for the IRS. Without another word, I leave and make my way back towards a pile of wood. A month ago these logs probably crashed through someone’s shed during a storm.

After filling my truck bed, I walk over to the vending machine near the back maintenance shed. I make my selection, but instead of just grabbing my soda from the bottom tray, I reach up and retrieve an envelope taped to the inside wall.

It’s begun.

I get in my truck and head back. My thoughts are both focused and excited as I know I’m back in the game. Closer to revenge. Excited to the point of...mother fucker! I’m out of bourbon.

If I’m going to be snowed in for a day, I can brave the chaos of a pre-snow storm liquor store to make it tolerable.

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