Hulk Hogan Bubblebath

In the late spring evenings he sits with his girl in a little park at the end of the company street. Behind them the town ends, and the brown bare hills, deepening in the twilight, roll away into the west. Long after it is dark in the valley, they can still see the last striations of the sunset beyond the western peaks. “Beautiful scenery,” the girl murmurs.

To hell with that, I’m getting out of here. Red at eighteen. “I always wonder what’s on the other side of the hills,” the girl says quietly. He grinds his shoes in the grudged sparse grass of the park. I got restless feet like my old man. He used to be full of ideas, had a bunch of books, but my mother went and sold them. That’s a woman for you.