The two weeks of forced insobriety were up, and we were (allegedly, ostensibly, supposedly) back at work.

     “Titty fuck!” Bud said.  “I enjoyed that little vacation!  I wish somebody else would die, so we could do it again!”

     “I nominate Spence.” Spider said, clearly trying to get ahead of the ball.

     “Yeah!” Bubba exclaimed.  “Spence, you fixin’ to get blowed up!”

     John Fact was grooving to it.  “You guys remind me of this guy named Jimmy Wilson.  Me and Jimmy were on this job one time…”

     Oh, shit.

     “Jimmy was a heartless son of a bitch.  Total loser.  The only time he got money was when a relative died.  His uncle died one time, and he got ten thousand dollars.  Then his dad kicked it, and he got six thousand more.  One day he comes running up to me.  ‘John, John!’ he says.  ‘What?’ I say.  ‘My grandfather just died!’ he tells me.

     “So I say to him, I say, ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Jim.’  You know, what can you say?  He starts shaking his head, and says, ‘No, man!  That’s great!  I’m getting five thousand dollars!’

     “You guys remind me of Jimmy.”

     Spence looked tanned and rested.

     “What’d you do for two weeks?” I asked.

     “Ah, you know,” Spence was laid-back.  “I just went to the coast.  No biggie.”

     “Where at?”  I dig the coast.

     “Galveston,” Spence ‘fessed up.  “It was cool.  I went with some of my friends who go to college.”

     “College buddies, huh?  Bet that was a blast!”

     “They’re okay.  I sure don’t like the way their parents pay for all their shit.  I mean, I gotta work a month to save a hundred bucks to go to the coast, and we drive down there in this motherfucker’s brand new BMW!  He’s never worked a day in his life!  I got a louder stereo, though.”

     “That’s life,” I tried to cheer him up.  “Then you’re gonna fucking die, Spence.”

     Spence was learning.

     As long as you have a louder stereo…

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