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Trudging through damp sand, counting the lines where the snakes have crossed the road. Air like a damp towel; it’s too heavy to breathe. Knees scream at the feel of the concrete floor; swallow pills to shush them.

At least my feet don’t feel broken.

Steven cuts sub buns like he’s performing surgery. Meticulous, even knife strokes. There would be little scarring. He’s a sweet kid, but a bad listener. Always does the exact thing I tell him not. Big blue eyes are impossible to rebuke.

Riley broke his leg while running in the dark. It was stupid, and he’s suffering for it. One week in the powder blue cast that starts mid-thigh and stops mid-toe. One week down, and two remain. Then the short cast. And then the boot.

“Who will we get to climb up and dangle off stuff now?”

Sheila whines too much. Too much this, or too much that. Total sorority girl. Princess. A high maintenance cliché full of insincere compliments. I’ve got the best BS meter around, so I know for sure when she lies.

Slush through spongy mud, hurting my heels on crawfish chimneys. Can’t see them in the tall grass. Everything hurts, from the neck down. Bones, bones, bones. Lock up the chickens, kiss the kids. Fold some laundry. Fall into bed.

At least I get more sleep than they do.

Wake up in the gray, undefined light. Count the rooster crows. Shower, or not. Brush teeth, or not. Clean clothes, at least, and pretend. Trudge through the damp sand, counting lines where snakes have crossed the road.