Joe shouldn't have dropped out of school.
He knew it wasn't wise, but he hated school and so he dropped out anyway.
He was working in the oil fields. It was a career that would eventually kill him, but it paid well enough for now.
It had been a long day. He was tired and dirty. He was on his way home, but his fuel gauge was showing empty, so he pulled his old pick-up off the road and into the gas station.
As the pump filled his tank, he leaned back against the truck. He folded his arms across his chest and sighed. What a day. He'd gotten yelled at again by the foreman, Chester. What kind of a name was Chester, anyway? The man was a hardcase. Joe had only been two minutes late, but there was no mercy from Chester. He'd spent five more minutes berating him.
Well, there was no sense reliving this particular day, Joe thought. He left the pump to do its job, and headed into the store. Might as well take home some beer.
He grabbed the cheapest canned beer he could find and headed to the register.
"This and the gas", Joe told the clerk as he plunked the cans on the counter.
The clerk, a blond middle-aged woman who hadn't missed many meals, glanced up from the celebrity magazine she was reading. She slowly rose from her stool as she tossed the magazine aside.
"Wanna lotto ticket, honey?"
"Nah. Wouldn't win, anyway."
"You sure? The jackpot's near $500 million. Highest ever!"
Joe glanced out the window at his truck. What a beater! Sure would be nice to have a new one.
"Huh. Never played before, so why not? I'll take one."
"Just one? Everbuddy's gettin' ten or twenny!"
Joe just stared at the lady until she mumbled "Suit yerself", and slapped a ticket on top of the six pack. He nodded at the lady, put the ticket in his back pocket, picked up his cans, and headed to the door.
This is part of my first effort at writing a novel. It's not ready. But like Jon Acuff says, 80% produced beats 100% stuck in your head.
Here we go.
Tell me what you're thinking, unless it's about math.
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