#25 Call It A Day
Music
During the day, he kept busy.
There was always something to do, it seemed. The washing up from breakfast. Dishes back on the shelf. The bed made, covers pulled up, corners tucked in.
Taking the trash outside gave the pig an opportunity to go for a little walk. Everyone got a little time in the sun.
Sometimes, he’d walk further even. Down the beach,letting the animal run ahead. Sometimes he’d sit in the sand and scratch or write in his journal. Out by the surf instead of curled up inside on the sofa.
There were days he worked, too. Picked up jobs out here partly as an excuse to linger, but really, he couldn’t stand to be still for that long. He’d go for a few days - off to the mainland with his weapon and gear. Came drifting back when it was done to put his head somewhere softer than he ever imagined he’d be able to tolerate.
In the evening, she’d cook sometimes. And sometimes, she’d work late and he’d go fend for himself somewhere. But sometimes, he’d find something good at a food stall in the city and have it boxed up to bring back.
So they could sit on the floor or the sofa or outside and share it. Toss food to the pig until it got full or sleepy and toddled off to curl up somewhere.
And he’d take her hands to work his thumbs into her rough palms as if to work out the tension of her day. Like she might work the lines of tension in his shoulders, that part of his lower back that hurt less these days.
If he put his temple to her shoulder, she would almost certainly run her fingers through his hair.
And they’d talk or not talk, depending on how they felt. Until it got late, and it got dark. And one or the other might turn with a softly voiced question:
…are you ready to call it a day?
@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast
