Life was good. Life was back to normal. Normal was good in my book. Normal was running this ranch on my own. Normal was watching my brother achieve his dreams on a screen—refusing to come home. Normal was having my boy with me, learning from me. Normal was shooting the shit with the boys in the bunkhouse after a long day. Normal was drinking a glass of whiskey on the front porch, alone. Normal was going to bed alone. Normal was travelling to a different state once a quarter to fuck some woman in a bar and leave right after without learning her name. Normal was her being gone. I didn’t want
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