Good man good heart said, she’s not bad. We was wrong on both sides, we decided. I did plenty wrong and so did she. She got the house and one acre, and I got nine acres and the barn. Every day her guy was at me. People told him he better lay off. I’d come home, and no sooner open the truck door when he’d be at the fence. I’d look at him and say you’re sleeping in my bed, in my house, with my old lady: shut your mouth. But he’d stay at it. I’d walk away. People told him. My ex told him to leave me alone. So one day he opens the gate, and I said close the gate. He let his dog in, and his dog started at my horse. His dog was at my horse. That was that. I reached behind my truck seat for the tire tool. He got his. Six broke ribs.

Good man good heart said, Yeah, I went in, in Operation Iraqi Freedom. They had to get guns through the Khyber Pass, and there ain’t no truck to do it. Had to use horses and donkeys and mules. Nobody knew what. I got it done. Had to move some heavy equipment by animal. Break it down and pack it along. The animals were okay. By the end, I said fuck you to people. If you’re Afghani, fuck you. Iraqi? Fuck you. And fuck you if you’re Russian. All I wanted was Americans.

Good man good heart is an asshole, who said, I’m trying to figure how to leave my piece of hide. She’s all right. She does a lot of good things for me. She did lie about her age. She’s 60. I’m 47. She’s separated like me. Her sister is a hot piece of ass, though. She’s 50 but looks 35. Now I see my girl with her ass all crooked and. Hell.

Good man good heart said, I’m from Fort Worth. The IRS keeps sending me letters and I keep throwing them out. I told my son don’t you sign up for the army. I did enough. My daddy did enough. My granddaddy did enough. The IRS wants money from me? Well, we have a saying here in Texas: come take it. My specialty is pouring concrete, which is why they put me on the job but then there was politics. So I’m head of the carpenters instead. Politics. I don’t give a shit who I offend.

Good man good heart said, I’m a Creek, you know. I was raised by whores. Raised in an actual whorehouse. A Muskogee. I take the conches off old belts when I think they’re nice. I’ll stitch ‘em on to sheaths. String it on a piece of leather cord. Are you Catholic, Christian? Well here then, I’m giving this to you. Can you wear a cross in your job? That’s good, then. Never be shamed to be yourself.

Anne Weisgerber

Anne Weisgerber

A.E. Weisgerber is a writer living in New Jersey. Her fiction appears in SmokeLong Quarterly, The Collapsar, Structo Magazine, DIAGRAM, Entropy Magazine, Shotgun Honey, and elsewhere. Her recent journalism has been published by The Alaska Star and the Alaska Journal of Commerce. She reads for Pithead Chapel, and reviews for Change Seven Magazine and The Review Review. She is at work on a story collection.
Anne Weisgerber

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