(no subject)
Seems that fence and that gate get worse ever year, and when Jack finally straightens, his back cracks in protest. One hand on the gate, the other on his hip, he looks out over the empty plains, squinting and sweating, before he swings the gate back and forth, testing.
It creaks a bit, but holds, and despite the heat and the ache in his neck, Jack grins, pleased with himself, takes off the rough work gloves covering his hands and sticks them in his back pocket when he turns around to head back.
The house itself squats, gray and sullen--one more lump out here in the middle a godforsaken nowhere, and the screen door bangs behind him when he heads into the kitchen, hangs his hat up on a nail by the door and gets a glass, runs some cool tap water into it.
Home sweet home.
It creaks a bit, but holds, and despite the heat and the ache in his neck, Jack grins, pleased with himself, takes off the rough work gloves covering his hands and sticks them in his back pocket when he turns around to head back.
The house itself squats, gray and sullen--one more lump out here in the middle a godforsaken nowhere, and the screen door bangs behind him when he heads into the kitchen, hangs his hat up on a nail by the door and gets a glass, runs some cool tap water into it.
Home sweet home.