West Virginia #1
“It’s in your blood, boy. It’s in your blood and it’s there to stay for good.” That’s
what my Grandad said, but by then the cancer was in his brain and real far gone, so who
knows what the hell he meant.
West Virginia #4
Clayton T. liked to get a pint of Old Grandad and slide up the hill to High Street
on Saturday night to sit his ass on a bench and look at the college girls. Never said
nothing to them, just sipped and grinned while they walked on by to the bars. All the high
school girls knew they were just there for practice. Clay was smart. He probably
could’ve gotten into the big school, too, but he got Elly Martin all knocked up instead. He
couldn’t decide if that was irony or just dumb luck. So he waited for the next Saturday to
roll around, upped the proof to Grandad 101, and went out walking on the tracks until the
freight line came down from Pittsburgh.
West Virginia #9
Old man Charlie would stand in his gravel driveway at night, squeezing his
pecker and peeping through the widow’s sheer doily curtains while she changed into her
coffee-stained flannel nighty. That is, until the old widow Maynard squinted out the
window into the square of light it threw because she thought she heard a hoot owl calling.
She jumped back so fast she had herself an embolism. Wasn’t really Charlie’s fault,
though. He never could help himself. Now-days, he just stands there all alone, staring at a
dark pane of glass and squirting on the rock dust.
● ● ●