Wasting a good body

2-Who

now being uploaded for my expert 😘

The sun had been hung in the sky for hours and it was nearing midday when Mark awoke, a pounding headache already drumming in his head. He sat up on his couch, he was so used to this feeling that he found it to be no different than any other day. He stood without a problem, even though his stomach felt like emptying the small amount of contents it held.

The urge to cook fried eggs hung heavy on his shoulders, the slimy oily texture helped settle his stomach and stopped his headache. However today he didn't have any eggs and the chickens outside probably haven't had any from the cold. He doubted that they were even alive.

Mark glanced outside at the clearing snow and decided to go to the store to get some food. The man had time and extra change to spare.

Once again his truck started, this time idling at the normal speed as he carefully drove around corners. He wasn't the same man he was last night, his burning anger had died down. He was no more than a gentle giant at this point. It was only as night neared and the solitude got to his brain that he grew angry and manic, lashing out at others with a bottle in his hand.

The truck stopped soon enough in the empty car park. His own rusty yellow truck was the only vehicle there, in front of the small gas station store for miles. The door creaked open as he slid out, his still snow covered shoes slapping against the road.

Mark waddled in, the same layers of clothes on his back. He was dressed for the cold rush they'd had last night. It would have turned eyes in the mid day sunlight, the most light the small town had seen in days.

The shop clerk sat behind a wired glass pane and didn't glance up front his phone as he heard Mark enter the store. The man made his way to the back of the store where he picked up one the of last crates of eggs from the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of vodka from the fridge next to it.

He then turned and made this way to the counter, putting some gum on the table as well. The cashier rolled his chair over to the window and glanced at the items. He then looked up at Mark, scanning him over.

Unkept hair and beard, with bloodshot eyes and ripped and worn clothes. He looked like a lumber jack with a red flannel layered under a wind shelter vest. He scratched his beard as he waited impatiently for the clerk to ring up his items, the sooner he got home the better. He had a body in the basement to cut up.

" I.D?" The gruff voice from the overweight middle aged man asked.

Mark sighed dramatically and fished his wallet from his back pocket. He pulled his small white card from the holster and slammed it on the desk. Glaring at the man in the eyes.

The man slipped his hand under the lane and looked at the picture, comparing it to the face of he man he saw before him.

The card was his license from when he was younger. With trimmed stubble and dyed red hair and a smile on his face. It held a small resemblance to the man standing in front of him, after three failed marriages and alcohol for days. The picture looked like a high school boy who had two parents and a nice girlfriend. The man in front of him seemed to be a war veteran who'd seen too much and had, had no father to speak of.

The clerk decided that it would be wise to simply let the man have his booze. Even if the card was fake, which is what he suspected, he found that it would be unwise to refuse a man so rough cut. He was intimidating. The atmosphere around him was tense, the aura of someone with a lot of anger ready to be released and the cashier did not want to be responsible for the leash breaking on his anger belt.