![]() ![]() ![]() He cursed his parole officer for the hundredth time as he began the long trek up the dirt road. Fuck, they didn’t even need to happen in that order. The guy he’d hitched a ride with had told him the ranch sat a mile up past the entrance and he hoped to God that the rusty piece of metal that hung above his head with the initials CB on it was a sign that a cold shower and hot meal were in his near future. He didn’t see any cows, but he sure as hell could smell them as the winds shifted and a hot, stifling gust blew more grit onto his sweat soaked skin. This was where honesty and playing by the rules had gotten him – a dry, dusty piece of shit land that sat in the shadow of the Rocky Mountain range. ![]() A ranch in the heart of Bumfuck, Montana. Rhys Tellar stared at the iron arch above him and grimaced. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |