Kevin at work came back from his hunting trip today. I saw him driving into the parking lot. The roof of his 4x4 looked like it had come into violent contact with a good sized tree. I emptied my coffee mug and walked over to see what had happened. For once, I wanted to get a story the first time it was told in the parking lot. I slapped the top of his truck's cab as I asked Kevin, "What the fuck happened?"
Kevin has what some folks call a devilish grin. He was smiling like Satan the day Michael Jackson died as he told me what happened. "Me and my buddies who had tags, three of us lucked out this year, had our moose so we didn't have much else to do but get pissed and raise shit. We got drunker than a Hindoo on a picket line. I'd be a dead man if I drove my quad and ratraced around the bush all pissed up like some dumb fuckers do. Driving drunk in my truck is way safer. Fuck what the police say. Mind you, it is a good thing I am a short fucker because I would have got konked good and hard if I was a six footer."
I like my booze and a little danger now and again is ok but I am not half the boozer and danger seeker most my brothers are here, in what seems like the last operating sawmill in Canada.