Sam blew the horn on his ‘76 Chevy pickup truck as he slowed to a stop in Peanut’s driveway. The trailer hadn’t had underpenning as long as Sam had known Peanut and he was certain that it never had. Amongst that maze of concrete blocks, pvc pipes, and hanging insulation there usually hid a few sneaky hound dogs that were known to bite before barking. The last thing you heard before being maimed by those mangy red bone hounds was the scraping of their paws in the dirt and rocks.

Sam already had a scar on his calf from his first visit and subsequent encounter with the ill-tempered hounds. Peanut came out onto the porch, his face lit with the blue glow of a bug zapper as he hollered for Sam to come on in. Sam hopped out of his truck and walked up the shaky steps of Peanut’s ramshackle porch.

“How you been, brother?” Peanut asked through his gray speckled and filthy beard.

“Better than average, man.” Sam said, wiping the sweat off his brow with the sleeve of his shirt.

They sat inside and got to business.