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I work four days on and two days off at the mill. During my probation I work two weeks of days, then two weeks of afternoons, then two weeks of night shift. I go through that rotation twice. That way all the foremen get a good look at me and they all fill out assessment forms at the end of the three months and then Mr. Peters and two other managers decide if I have a job or not.

It’s mid-August and I’m exactly half way done my probation. I’ve just finished my first two weeks of night shift and I feel like a zombie. The good news is that going from night shift to day shift means I actually get three days off. The bad news is it’s been over 100 degrees here every day for the past week and there’s no relief in sight. You can’t even imagine how hot it is at work. We drink gallons of water and take salt tablets and our boots fill up with sweat. It’s gross, but the really bad news is we’re into the third week of a beer strike. All the beer here comes from two breweries and they’re both on strike and it’s stinking hot and everyone is thirsty and cranky.

The closest lake is an hour’s drive from here. There’s a river that goes through town. It’s cold as hell and flows way to fast for most people to swim in, but a couple of years ago they opened a nice park (upstream from the sewage treatment plant and the sawmill) and they built a huge horse-shoe shaped dock out into the river. The water is still as cold as hell, but at least you won’t get swept away and when it’s this hot out the river is damn near refreshing.

I consider stopping for a dip on the way home, but I’m just too tired. I’m going to have a cold shower and go to sleep in my subterranean basement before the house heats up.  I’m daydreaming about how good a cold beer would taste when I pull into the driveway and almost hit my dad as he walks behind his car. He tells me to park on the street. They’ll be leaving in an hour. He tells me my Uncle Charlie is treating them to three days in Las Vegas. He says they didn’t tell me earlier because they didn’t want any big parties happening while they’re gone. Mom comes out with a suitcase and says they trust me to be responsible and act like an adult while they’re away. I think if they trust me why did they wait until now to tell me they were going away? And what the hell does ‘act like an adult’ mean? We don’t really think of you as an adult. We just want you to act like one. Put on a good show for the neighbours.

Mom makes me breakfast before they leave and I promise to do the dishes before I go to bed. She says if I let egg dry onto the dishes in this heat they’ll never come clean and she’ll just have to throw them out and we’ll have to use paper plates and plastic forks and her mother scrimped and saved to buy her those dishes.  “He said he’d do them.” Dad says as he pushes her towards the door.

I ask them if they have everything: Tickets, toothbrushes, condoms. He says yes, yes and I took yours it’s not like you were using them. Mom slaps him on the shoulder. I ask if they want me to make sure the iron is unplugged. Dad says no it’s in the trunk. Mom pretends to look cross and gets in the car. It’s one of those family jokes. Whenever we went away, she was certain she’d left something plugged in or unlocked and she’d worry about it until Dad drove back home to check. One trip it was the iron and she got more and more upset about it. Finally Dad pulled over, got out of the car, opened the trunk, got the iron and put it on her lap and without saying a word started driving again. Funny stuff.

I stay in the cold shower until my head starts to hurt. One of the guys at the mill told me he buys a bag of ice on his way home from work, fills his bath tub up with cold water, tosses the ice in and soaks in the tub until the ice all melts. He lives in a second floor apartment though.  I drip naked through the house and can feel the temperature drop as I go down stairs. Even though the Grumpies aren’t here, I won’t smoke up in the house. I go outside and check my stash. Nothing but roaches. I pack three into a hash pipe and spark it up. The extra paper almost makes me choke, but I manage to hold it in. It tastes like dirt and ashes, but I don’t care. I’ll call Dave later.

I dream of Liz again. She’s here in my room and she’s smiling at me. Her big green eyes flash mischievously at me like she has a secret and she hasn’t quite decided if she’ll share it. She dances in front of me and it’s hard to focus on any one part of her. My eyes seem to slide all over, like she’s made of glass. I get little flashes…every fourth frame of a movie:  her curly red hair, skin so pale it glows in the darkness, a powder blue bra, then her naked breasts round and firm with tiny pink nipples, a splay of cinnamon coloured freckles goes down her chest between them and seems to cup each breast, a small curly triangle of red slightly darker then her head.

Then I’m on top of her. My face is buried in her hair and it smells like apricots. I hold a breast in my hand. It’s soft and yet firm. I pinch the nipple and she moans in my ear. My cock aches for her and it finds its way to her entrance like it’s always know the way. I feel her legs wrap around me and I slide into her warm wet pussy.  Her tongue slides in and out of my mouth with the same rhythm.

She starts to dissolve as soon as I start to come, like sugar cubes in my morning coffee. That feeling of being inside the girl is never quite long enough and I lay there half asleep, trying to hold onto it for a few extra minutes until the wet spot gets cold and I’m wide awake.

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