A country boy figures out how to make ends meet.

When moonshining was a hobby and not a career for Al, he made ends meet with side jobs.
    “We can’ts lives off’a no one-fifty a week. You needs a second job.” Sara-Lou screeches.

    “But hunny, I’s already workin’ 43 hours a week, I ain’t gots no times. Maybe yous’n gets a job, ’steads’a lyin’ round, likes a lame dog.” Al asserts.

    “You knows I’s gots’a condition Al. We agreed thats’n I’d keep house and youd’s work, so work.” She hissed.

    Imported lippy-dippy and weekly pornographic VHS tapes do not grow on trees, as the stack of bills on Al’s cable-spool dinner-table testify. Al’s debt weighs him down as he walks the streets of Corn collecting recyclables in the dead of night. It was not much money, but it worked.

    The dim glow of far-spaced street lamps light Al’s path. A couple lights away Al sees the bust of a woman and apish frenzies of a man. Surprisingly, Al realizes that a public strip show is happening. Al stops picking trash and observes, first out of arousal, and then out of curiosity. The manic motions of the male “customers” intrigue Al. His eye’s widen, and mouth opens in a moment of clarity. Like a flash of lighting all the street lights burst and a dazzling white brilliance radiates into the sky and Al proclaims,

    “I’s gots an idears.” 

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