Matters of Domestic Strife

By Jordan Lewis



“You deaf?”

“Another one, then.”

“Bet your ass another one.”

“I saw you drive in, and I don’t allow lot sleepers. Better make your arrangements”

“Been made.”

“Right, then. Slower, this time, if you please. I ain’t as strong as I look, and it ain’t in my job description to be pickin’ drunks off the floor.”

“Isn’t it?”


“Right, then. General rule is for sidearms to be left at the door.”

“Ain’t general to me.”

“You some type of lawman?”

Hoarse laughter.


“Woah, now. Just w-“

“I’m the husband.”

“The what?” Eyes wide. “Wait. Plea-“



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