Better Days


The painters had taken off the switchcovers.  I looked in the silverware drawer.  No knives.  A big kid in coveralls stood in the doorway unscrewing a long handle from a roller.  Guessin’ you ain’t the electrician, he said.  I said I used to live here, it was my stuff in the dumpster.  He shook his head, sorry.  Not on you, I said.  You got a screwdriver?  What for, he said.  I flipped the dead porchlight switch, said I had a key stashed.  He thought about it, left with the roller handle.  In the front room tools clattered.  He came back with a flatblade.  The roller handle laid across his shoulder.  I said you hit a mule with a stick, you just break the stick and piss off the mule.  He grinned, stepped back.  Just bein’ careful.  I said yeah, me too.  

The false back I’d made for the box was a tight fit and I bent his screwdriver prying it out.  The key was there, a small fold of bills.  I peeled off a hundred.  For the  screwdriver, I said.  The kid shook his head, made a pushing-away gesture.  You need it worse’n I do right now, he said.  Better days, you can buy me a beer.  I shook my head.  Won’t be around.  He shrugged.  Thanks, I said.  He nodded.  I left.   

Out front a beat pickup said Sullivan Constuction.  The driver’s visor was down and I put it up and tucked the hundred there. Down the block a cab stopped.  An old man got out and the cab came on.  I waved and it slowed but the driver changed his mind and didn’t stop.      


* Mark Reep is an artist and writer whose work has appeared or is forthcoming in online and print publications including American Art Collector, Endicott Journal, Word Riot, Prick of the Spindle, Art Graphica, Gloom Cupboard, Full of Crow, Moon Milk Review, Girls with Insurance, Amphibi.us, Smash Cake, A-Minor, Blink/Ink and Postcard Stories.  Mark lives and works in New York’s Finger Lakes region.   http://markreep.net  + http://markreep.blogspot.com