The cooking and eating were over. Frank sat on the old sofa: filled with crumbs, lost pennies the U.S. Mint would never find. and dog hair from Capone his sister’s dog.
Frank nursed his beer while the kids ran around and screamed and yelled. The innocuous motel rooms from his life looked pretty good right now. What was the purpose of life anyway? Life meant growing young to old: fucking, breathing, shitting reproducing and dying in a hideous way. Then, ending up in a box with dirt raining down on you like hail on the car roof.
Frank nursed his beer and felt nausea wrapping its tentacles around him
After telling his sister goodbye, Frank walked to his old car and got in the springs listing slightly to the left.
Family, Frank thought, driving down the farm to market road, weren’t they great?
Once a year.