The next morning, Tiny woke up on the couch and realized that things didn’t have to be the way they were. He didn’t have to put up with that bullshit from his wife. The little fat woman was a whole lot more fun than his wife had ever thought about being. Tiny had loved his wife a lot at one time, but now he didn’t love her so much. As a matter of fact he’d sort of started hating her. All she did was complain and cough and drink and cost him money. There was no telling how much money she had cost him over the years. She didn’t have any sense of humor at all, and the sex they had together was kind of like something she paid him just to bring the whiskey. Tiny stayed there on the couch awhile and thought about the little fat woman’s fat little naked body and how nice and fat it had been. She really had some meat on her bones. He got all excited again thinking about it. He wondered if maybe she’d want him to give her another ride home sometime. He hoped she would. Tiny thought that maybe he might ought to put a quilt in the trunk and start carrying it around with him, just in case. Just keep it for emergencies, kind of like how his wife kept her little parts of bottles of whiskey hidden.

Tiny got up and walked into the bedroom and peeked in on his wife. She was in bed with the covers up over her head. He couldn’t see her face. She wasn’t moving at all. She looked dead but he knew she wasn’t.

Tiny eased into the kitchen and fixed his bologna sandwich. He eased out the door and got in the Buick and cranked it.