5
Foxfire
I dream of my paws scrabbling in the rocky earth. A sunset blazes in the distance, fiery red and orange. My broken cell phone crackles with my mother’s voice, telling me I should dye my hair those colors. Then Tank looms over me, shaking his head…
I wake with a start, the smell of bacon so intense, I can taste it.
My stomach rumbles as I pad to the kitchen. Tank stands at the stove, his broad back hunched and shaved head bowed over a skillet.
“OMG,” I say. “Are you making breakfast?” A folded paper bag soaks up grease under a stack of bacon. “Is some of this for me?”
He flashes me a grin, jerks his head at the table. My little card table is covered with dishes of meat. Sausage, hamburger patties, more bacon.
“Oh my god, Tank. Did you kill every pig and cow in the world?”
