She drives home from working third shift at the cheese factory, stretches, has a morning beer in front of her small television, in her small apartment, in her small town. Her life is small.
She thinks about her man, her old man, her cheating no-good ex man. She thinks about the text messages she saw on his phone while he was taking a shower, after working first shift at the hospital, while she was cooking his pork chop and baking his potato.
She has another beer. It’s Friday morning, she has sixty-four hours of time to kill before she has to be back at the cheese factory for another third shift. She turns on the television, flips through the channels, turns off the television. She stands up, stretches her sore back, and heads to her shower to rinse off the whey and sweat.
She pulls off her clothes. She grabs the fragile chain of the locket he gave her, she pulls. It snaps. She flushes.
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