This story is one of a continuing series of connected stories know as The Shack series. The series started here, and it is much easier for those that follow the stories to find them if I keep them all together.This story stands on its own, though it is part of the series.  The Shack: An Angry Man Just One of those Fuckin' Days. There are just days you shouldn't even get out of the fucking bed. The kind of days you start off by dropping your fucking toothbrush in the toilet bowl you just pissed in. The best move is to go back to bed, because it's only going to go downhill from there. It was obviously going to be one of those fucking days. Still, I convinced myself that I needed to keep my ass moving. Gotta have money to buy food; gotta make money to have money. First order of business was to repair my battery shed. I'd lost a bunch of car batteries when some asshole had used snips to get into the back of the shed one night and stole 80 of them. No doubt they turned them in somewhere for the core charge, probably end up with at least $400. Assholes. I suspected Ronnie Pelton, a local jackass who needed to work his way up to scumbag. Couldn't prove it, though. Not yet anyway. I managed to get a piece of sheet metal tacked into place, but it took twice as long as I expected, and, as usual with sheet metal, I managed to cut myself twice. Owning a salvage yard, I pretty much put my tetanus shot to the test all the time. A full set of 22.5" aluminum wheels came off easier than I expected. They'd probably go for about $1200 on eBay. Several other pieces worked out pretty well, so the day didn't look like it was going to be a total loss after all. That was kind of the cool thing about running a salvage yard. Salvage meant taking things nobody else wanted and saving them, making them useful. Before I knew it, it was almost lunchtime. I went into the trailer and washed up as best I could, stopping to pull my Gilligan-looking Coors Light bucket-hat off and look in the mirror. Still mostly bald. Not that cool high-forehead-with-lengthening-widow's-peak stuff; flat-out just fringe-left-over-the-ears bald. Probably look better if I trimmed my full-on walrus mustache, but I couldn't do that either. It hid the massive scar on my upper lip. "Stabbed in the face" isn't a figurative thing for me, and yeah, that had hurt like fucking hell. I pulled my lunch out of the refrigerator and headed down to Ed's Quickmart to buy a large Coke and use the microwave. Honestly, I had cold Coke in the fridge at the trailer, and I probably had six or seven working microwave ovens at any time, but it was a ritual of sorts, and the best part of my day was talking with Sheree, who worked the counter. She was probably my favorite person in the world, and if I'd have had any balls I'd have asked her out a long time ago.