Doce
“Erna!”
Walt’s voice contains more than its usual irritation toward the woman with whom he’s spent nearly a half century. It’s as though he blames her for what happened to him. Dropping his canvas tote onto a chair, he goes into the kitchen for a glass of water. He still has a nasty taste in his mouth, though now it’s like crushed cigarettes and stale semen. Instead of water he opts for cranberry juice, drinking it straight out of the bottle since his wife’s not standing there watching him with one of her disapproving Erna frowns.
There’s a bad smell in the air. Walt suspects it might be coming from him. If this is what sordid smells like, he’d better hop into the shower before Erna gets a whiff. The stink lies like a thick coat of grease on his skin. He wants to take a scouring pa
