Fourteen years on the job
Marcus
You get home, shower, sit down, and your body still has not been told the shift ended. You are scanning the driveway. You are short with people you love and quietly appalled by it. Sleep comes in ninety-minute pieces, and the drinking crept up so gradually you could argue it either way. You do not need someone to be shocked by the calls. You need somewhere to set them down that is not the truck.


