--WHY DON'T WE JUST SAY WHAT WE MEAN

...It snowed.
It snowed a lot.
Big flakes the size of bread slices.
I enjoy a really good snowfall. For 20 some years I used to hate when it snowed because I was in retail and snow means death for retail because every stays home and no one shops.
In the same perverse way I used to get depressed when it was sunny on the weekends because that meant people would play outdoors rather than go to the mall.
But not I am making up for all that.
I stood by the big picture window and looked up into the sky. It was filled with shredded coconut. Very cool. I loved it.
Unfortunately, since I live in the boondocks and we still have telephone poles, the power went out for a long stretch.
But it's back. It's back and there's still seven inches of white outside.

...Today I got a batch of the new Durable Goods.
This story, partially about my parents, was in it:


Union 76

It starts with gasoline.
My father an attendant, back when they had them in those days. Mother showing up on empty.
From there, they had two botched abortions, then me, a trailer home smelling of barley and brine, a place ravaged but replaced with shattered things.
It ends with gasoline, my father soaked in it one night after passing out on the couch. Mother putting the can down, flicking a lighter, saying, “Enough is enough.”