Last Time I Let Anyone Pick Up My Tab (New Prose)

It was in Montana.
Some town right across the border from Williston.
I was working as a hired hand for a few bucks a day,
enough to eat,
enough to drink,
and enough for cigarettes.
Most yet,
enough to save up for a train ride back to anywhere i'd just come from.

The man who found me at the cafe' in town
and asked me for the work was short, bald, and had beady little eyes.
His name was Nolan.

He had three sons, a daughter, and a wonderful classic housewife
who made absolutely fantastic meals.
Both for the table,
but also,
for the work.

Now,
i wasn't necessarily looking for work.
Or to much of anything for that matter.
I was just trying to figure out how not to pay for the meal
i didn't have money for anyways.
He ended up picking up my tab,
and i suppose i felt as if i owed him something

"we'll start today. now if you're ready."
i said yeah, and we jumped into his old Ford.
This whole working experience lasted maybe a week,
maybe two.
Nothing incredibly interesting happened.
Just work, work, work.

One day (my last/unannounced day)
we were driving some dirt gravel road in that same ford.
I heard a loud *thunk* hit the windshield.
Then another.
and another.
Then two more.

I didn't need to.
But i asked anyways.
"are birds hitting the windshield?"

he replied
"YES! This is survival of the fittest at its finest! Relative and dependent, of course, on how i lower or raise my speed and how i swerve!"
*THUNK*

"wait. you're trying to hit them?"
*THUNK*

"of course not! perhaps they're suicidal!...But, I am up to seven! HAHAHA!!"
then he patted me on the back just a little too hard,
and we continued on.

I ate one last meal by his beautiful wife
Went to the train station
And got the fuck out of there