It’s not that I don’t trust motherfuckers, I just didn’t trust him. Something I heard somewhere, sometime, about never eating at a place called Mom’s or playing poker with a dealer named Doc. But he didn’t cheat me out of money playing stud, he cheated with my girl. I don’t know any sayings about shit like that, but that’s neither here nor there. I had plans to leave her anyway. Smelled soaps of others on her soft skin. I’m not one to stand alone in the chapel, a crown of thorns on my head. Makes no sense. Besides, it’s not like I can call the Righteous Love Police. And now, she’s rides in a BMW—I think he’s a fucking dentist or doctor of letters—and I watch sunsets with a dog named Blue and a bottle of Johnny Red. They’re not that smart, tricky as they think. I practice dealing from the bottom of the deck, too. It’s easy. Easy as pie, easy like Sunday morning. Peaceful as watching sunsets with old hounds, knocking back tumblers of Mr. Walker. And I’m not even expected to save myself.

– William Teets