Quiet man

As he pushed the door open the gold bell above gave his introduction. The heavy thud of his work boots seemed to make the creaking of the floor less obvious to the front desk clerk. Junior only made two or three trips to the general store each year so he wasn’t surprised that the elderly woman behind the counter didn’t recognize him. He walked up and down the narrow isles with the same list he brought every fall. He carried two potato sacks in his calloused hands and carefully filled them with all the necessities for the harsh winter to come. Canned vegetables and potted meat, crackers and a few bottles of cheap whiskey along with a few other essentials. Junior put each can on the counter in a line so that he could check them against the list a second time. He paid the tab with exact change, gave a nod and a polite half smile then left without saying a single word.

Only turning his eyes upward to see his destination, Junior stepped onto the dirt road and began the walk home. After approximately two miles, he found a shade tree and gently laid his groceries down just for a moment’s rest. He took out the bandanna his Papa gave him when he was a boy and wiped his forehead and scruff of his neck. Sat down with his back against the trunk and cracked open a whiskey bottle to revive him for the rest of the hike. He gave himself a few hefty swallows, stood tall, and pressed onward.