The Horse

by Willy Vlautin

The shack was frozen because he had a cracked woodstove that burned too fast and he hadn’t brought in enough wood. But that was the way of mornings. Tequila instead of breakfast and Al staring at the empty woodbin, cursing himself until his bladder forced the day upon him.

when you write a good tune and you know it’s good, and you haven’t played it for anyone, it’s like holding hope in your pocket. And the hope has a heart that’s beating and it rushes through you and all around you. For a moment you’re proud of yourself because you have this little bit of gold that no one’s heard and you’re the only guy in the world that knows it or feels it or knows how good the tune is. That’s the best feeling.”

“And at least we’ve both been in love,” he said. “That’s pretty lucky in a guy’s life. To know how that feels.”