ruttin'

It’s hot, with a side of muggy. She don’ like it. Always dreamed of bein’ in a place where there ain’ the humid side of things, maybe e’en someplace where there’s snow. So she up ‘n packed, tellin’ Paul he could stick it where the sun don’ shine. Bastard didn’t deserve no better nohow, not after she caught him ruttin’ with the neighbor’s dog. Weren’t natural, jus’ like all that water hoverin’ in the air. Time she was movin’ on.

The change didn’ happen overnight. It was real gradual-like. The bus with its nose pointed north like a compass, air conditionin’ just sure to dry out your throat, stoppin’ for a bit of grub ‘n a piss every few hours. It weren’t ‘til the third day she could feel the change in the air outside, where it weren’t pressin’ down on her lungs as if she were drownin’ in her own spit.

Sometimes she wondered if Paul e’en noticed that she weren’t around no more. When she’d sleep, bus barrelin’ through the night, her head all a-lollin’ off to the side, the air conditionin’ burnin’ dry acid up her nose, she’d see him again with that dog, goin’ at it like a viper, his eyes turned inward. But the dog weren’t there: she'd just see herself on all fours, a cringin’ look on her face, the same look as she’d seen on that pup. A look that said she’d be grateful for a whippin’ as long as it come from him; the faithful bitch, crouchin’ for whatever crumb of attention her master might be willin’ to parcel out.

Wakin’, she scrambles for another piece of clothin’ to keep her warm, tryin’ not to wake the snorin’ fat man next to her, her hands shakin’ in the frozen cold. It were just the air conditionin’, she tol’ herself. She weren’t no man’s bitch.