Untitled.

He lifted his head up against the gusting snow, leaned against his shovel, flashed me a shit-eating grin, and said: I’m going to move to Maine and settle down somewhere along the coast, with a pretty girl who appreciates the simple things. We’ll have just enough money to pay the bills and warm the house against the cold. When winter comes we’ll live off canned soup and the mushrooms that will grow in the basement, and we’ll be happy under our layers of blankets and scattered piles of books. She’ll tell me all her dreams when she wakes up, and stand out in the cold looking at constellations, wearing nothing. I’ll wear nothing but flannel; I’ll make a living with just my sweat and these two hands, and goddamn will it feel good to be alive.