FOURTEEN
James didn’t need an alarm clock. Rigs woke him every morning around five. The dog didn’t bark. Instead, Rigs touched his cold wet nose to James’ nose. Every morning, James would flinch awake. Startled.
“You gotta go outside, boy?”
Rigs then launched himself off the bed. Getting up became more and more of a chore each day. A part of him was always surprised when he woke up. He drank enough each night that, eventually, morning wouldn’t come. Until that time he was somewhat forced to carry on.
By the time he swung his legs out of bed, Rigs had dashed in and out of the bedroom twice checking on his status. “I’m coming, boy. I’m coming.”
He shook a cigarette out of the back on his nightstand and lit it as he bent over a pulled on the pair of jeans he’d been wearing the day before
