Settlement

All morning he smoked weed and played the lottery. Before he had scratched half the roll his winnings were upwards of fifty thousand dollars. He brushed the silver shavings from his knee and sat back on the couch. The gasoline jugs arrayed red in the living room. Petrol fumes. Dizzy water.

In the afternoon he drove into Phoenix and bought a case of whisky from the Arabs at the drivethru liquor store on Camelback. There was another popular restaurant across the street and while Beer waited for the Arab to box the bottles he watched the people having lunch on the back patio. There were many of them and they were dressed in attire suited to different obscure communions. Many of them were laughing. The portions at that restaurant were such that from where he sat in the cab of the truck Beer could see the piles of food on the tables. Those waiting for tables stood behind the chairs of those already eating and when those seated had finished the ones waiting crowded in and many times were at the table before the plates were clear, heaping the leftovers in a common pile and looking around for someone to help them, someone to take their hand and lead them out of the valley. Soon the new food looked like the old food and all were fed and all were neutered and all went back to laughing, the valley a circle, every beast asleep on the bones of his precursor.