Waylan's truck wouldn't start so we had to walk all the way back into town. The damn thing would just cough up some exhaust, refusing to turn over. He paid only a few hundred bucks for that piece a shit last fall... serves us right I suppose.
The night before the bottle had the best of us. I could still feel it in my veins as we hitched along the interstate. Walking with the sun in our eyes, tryin' to remember what had happened the night before.
I know that we had slaughtered a hog for supper, and sometime after that Rita had stopped by to eat with us. She brought over a few bottles of ripple; the cheap kind that gets ya all red eye drunk.
I thought it was just a dream, but I think Waylan might have strangled that Rita in the shed out back after havin' his way with her.
Yeah... I reckon' the body is still in there... stinkin' to high hell of blood and old rotgut wine.
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