The summer nights get cold here. Seems counterintuitive, but that’s just how it is. I spent the last of my retirement money on this mobile home. We’ll just drive around, sleep where we stop. We’ve been bumping around inside it like two feral cats, and it’s turning into a blood sport.
I drink straight from the bottle. Another argument. I can’t remember what we were arguing about. She was meant to go into town to get some medicine. I was meant to go into town to get some food.
So we sit outside in silence.
As the sun starts to sink, I pick up some wood and we start a fire. I throw on my licence, my passport. She throws hers down too, and we watch them burn. I pour some petrol on. She dances by the fire and I join her, close, together, my arm round her waist and hers on my shoulder.
I swig from the bottle and we stumble into the mobile home, dishes flying, TV broken, her need and mine together. I pull her hair and she bites my chest, and then we sleep.
In the morning, I wake up and hear gunshots.
I grab the gun from the safe and go outside.
She’s standing out there shooting.
Two revolvers, twelve rounds between them, and she has fired all hers.
I load one round and spin the chamber. She reloads one of hers and does the same.
We pull the triggers.
Both guns fire.
Then the credits roll.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 5 stars: gorgeous commentary
⭐ 1 star: two drunks shoot each other
Paul Andrew Sneddon 