W
ade stared up at the trailer’s popcorn ceiling and couldn’t help but notice that one of the bulbs in the light fixture had burned out. Then he glanced around the bedroom filled with nothing but cheap, second-hand crap—a mattress and box spring without a bed frame, a thrift store dresser, the nightstand missing all its knobs, and a metal folding chair piled high with unfolded clothes sat next to a cracked window patched with duct tape.
He hated trailers. He really did. This was the third time he’d been in this tin box, and he still hated the goddamn place. Amy slept beside him, curled up and looking so young. Her porcelain-white skin flawless as a baby’s. Perfect in every way.
He picked up his bottle of Yuengling off the nightstand and drank down the rest of it even though it was piss
