walterby Doug Smock
ABOUT THE ART
Late on a sunny summer afternoon, in a state not too far from the ocean, Walter’s thoughts boil a recipe for revenge.
“...the executive committee is grateful for your continued years of service...” “...unfortunately as a result of the recent reorganization...” “...eliminated...” Their words, sharp as a shiv, continue to slice.
In floats the fungal smell of freshly turned earth, the whispering hiss-hiss of escaping air, and an ever so faint, metallic taste of blood.
“Say there friend, you look like you could use a cold one”, calls a postman peddling past.
“No thanks”, says Walt. “I don’t drive then drink.”