The Texas Observer, May 4th, 2007
You go'n sleep awl day, Hank?" Kris startles me from a fitful slumber.
"Git y'self on," I growl, then kick the sheets at my persistent pal with his canary-feather grin. He stands at the end of my bunk, just out of striking distance. He brazenly assaults me with the bad news that work time is upon us. We'll be eating a frozen breakfast of Texas winter wind yet again, it seems, so I slip on the worn-out brogans Kris has lobbed onto my gut.
The Juan Valdez commissary coffee tastes like floor-scrapings, but I make a double-shot and slam it down John Wayne style (cold). I dip a calloused finger i...
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