On the Lam (Wistful Beast and Vermiciro)

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That Callie willingly played along to suggestion, by passive predilection or confluent thought, Judith appreciated it regardless. Taking a menu in one hand, beer in the other, Judith had a glance down the listing. All salt and fat, bar fare to evoke thirst and further spending. When it came to pecuniary expense, Judith was in favor of petrol and liquor before food. But what did it matter now? Why live parsimoniously when there may be no tomorrow to make use of the prior day's savings?

"Y'know," Judith began, taking another drink, "Food doesn't sound all too bad right now." she agreed. Many of the dishes had cheese, sauce coatings, and viscous condiments that dripped. Something a little more bland and dry appealed to her. Judith slotted the menu back in its holder. "Some kind of chicken would be good. Fried, grilled, I don't give a shit." she said dismissively with a shrug. "If you could get a couple fingers of whiskey and a pitcher of beer to go with it, all the better." The whiskey especially. Though the beer's carbonation helpfully hastened inebriation, it wasn't enough. Judith wanted something that kicked harder, faster. If only to take the edge from her senses a little sooner.
 
Food appealed to Callie right about now, the dull claws of hunger settling in. Consuming anything nutritious, however, wasn't high up on the list of her current values. Any moment could be Callie's very last and she'd be damned if she spent her last meal poking around dehydrated looking pieces of lettuce with a tentative fork. So it was decided that she'd purchase a burger and that a few less dollars in her pocket wouldn't matter if they were caught tomorrow. Not that Callie wished to be killed or thrown in prison, it was just that now she had adopted a different mindset now that their days evading the cops appeared to be numbered. Could they pull this off forever? Could they reach Canada and hide out? Could they even avoid killing each other? Callie didn't wish to seek the answers yet.

Instead she listened to Judith's decision, finding that her partner hadn't objected to a good meal, and certainly would never decline alcohol. That woman sure seemed to enjoy her liquor, something a fearful light weight like Callie could never relate to. Again the memory of her staggering around drunkenly as Trevor's came to mind, the vague sensation of acidic bile coming back to her for a brief moment. Stumbling around and retching like an imbecile was not a state Callie would ever wish to return to, deterring her from daring to drink more than the bottle of beer that sat waiting near her fingertips.

"Something with chicken and some more alcohol. Alright, I'll be back." Callie said, committing Judith's preferences to memory. Then she rose to her feet and picked her way back to the bar, trying to maintain a facade of relaxation, rolling the tension out of her shoulders and reminding herself to breathe regularly to keep her nerves in check. Still, the persistent gaze of the male patron at the adjacent table lingered. Suddenly Callie feared as if he could somehow see through the scarf that covered her head, those dark eyes hopefully unable to rove over her striking hair color.

Gaze returning to his companions, a sense of anonymity crept back into Callie's system, although suspicion remained. Once back at the bar Callie spoke to the bartender again, finding no waitstaff to take her order right now. "Um, hello again. Can I get a cheeseburger and fries? Also, a grilled chicken sandwich, a glass of some sort of whiskey...whatever you recommend that is good, but also inexpensive. Oh, and one more bottle of beer." Callie requested politely, hoping that Judith would like what she ordered since the less dirt they had between each other, the better.

"Sure thing, little lady,"the bartender replied with a toothy smile before retreating to the kitchen and barking a few orders. Then he returned to the bar to pour whiskey into a small glass, filling it up about half way without Callie's instruction, an amount that was sure to be appreciated by Judith. Paranoid as always, watching the drink pouring intently ensured that Callie would not be accidentally giving Judith a drugged drink. The filled glass and beer was handed over in exchange for the money needed to purchase the food and drink, the few crumpled green bills scooped away by the bartender's waiting hand. He assured the food would be ready soon and then left Callie to depart, which she promptly did, returning to her seat and pushing the whiskey and extra bottle of beer towards Judith.

"Not sure what kind of whiskey that is. I just asked him for something that was good, yet in a decent price range. Hopefully it doesn't taste like shit, not that it really ever tastes good," Callie commented, throwing in her own opinion. No one could ever get Callie to hold an appreciation for something like whiskey, which tasted like liquid fire to her.
 
Watching as Callie crossed the floor, measuring the interest in those gazes she drew, Judith finished her beer. She set the bottle aside. 6 years, nearly 7 since the last she could drink so freely. Before incarceration, her final hours preceding prison were spent in a bar not unlike the one they now dined in. The nostalgia it evoked left Judith feeling alien, a stranger in what should have felt like home. Time had forsaken her. Locked away, the world had aged without her, incongruous and disparate to its old self, only recognizable by the underlying structure. The subtle madness of lost familiarity, such a lonely, shipwrecked feeling.

Eyes scrutinizing her partner, Judith could only wonder if the feeling was one Callie could sympathize with. Unlikely, she'd never experienced such isolation as prison. But everyone knew the strangeness of unseen change. Walking one's grade-school corridors as an adult, seeing someone after years apart, that obscure bend in time where past and present meet but you're left in the between. Judith wanted a cigarette, if only to busy her hands with it. Her ruminations were unsettling and seeing Callie return was a welcome distraction.

"Liquor ain't a contest for me." Judith quipped upon receiving her drinks. "It all tastes the same coming up anyways." What space remained in the tumbler she filled with beer, the bottle hissing carbonation as she twisted the cap free to pour it. All total, two beers and maybe a shot and a half of liquor. It wouldn't be enough. She already knew, was already thinking of her next drink. After years of sobriety, Judith wanted just one night in the rolling warmth of inebriation. She drank a sample of the concoction, biting. The whiskey followed the beer, an acerbic undertow cauterizing her taste buds. It was masochistically soothing.

"You ever wanted to travel?" Judith asked conversationally, setting her drink down.
 
One thing Callie could agree with was that whiskey tasted the same going down as it did up. Memory of acidic bile slapping against the murky river water was not easy to shake, unfortunately. For now she negated the bitter recollection with a swig of her beer, enjoying the flavor of it more than the buzz it was able to produce. Becoming intoxicated was to be strictly avoided. Judith could be drunk off her ass if that's what she wished and Callie wouldn't care, so long as she could cooperate enough to climb back into the car later on.

However, the usually aggressive and impulsive Judith would probably not act very nicely with highly impaired judgment, a thought to keep in the back of her mind. Hopefully Judith was a happy drunk.

As Callie idly swirled the contents of her bottle in small circles, her partner popped a question to engage in a conversation, seeing as they both could use getting to know each other. Only a few days had passed since their unplanned meeting, a few days since fate through two very different people into a partnership sealed with blood. Both the blood of strangers and their own, the healing slice across Callie's fate line being brought to her attention again. The question was assessed next, one Callie was glad enough to answer since it seemed relatively light hearted, which was welcome.

"I've certainly wished to travel before. Reading about far away states or foreign countries does little justice for them, so I've yearned to go see them for myself. There's a certain appeal to seeing the world. Under the right circumstances of course, since no matter where I travel I'd still like to have a home..."she answered.

Cocking her head to one side, a new thought chewed at her. "I don't have a home now though...So I guess now I'm seeing the sights on a new level, maybe not a good one, but it's still traveling." Callie laughed softly, almost uncomfortably, seeming troubled by her sudden revelation. Again the end of thee bottle found her lips.

After a pause she redirected the conversation away from herself. "What about you?"
 
Home, a place of safety and welcome, where one can feel they belong. The luxury of such an anchor, a constant to rely on in times of trouble, was beyond Judith's recollection. She'd never had one. Not in that sense. For her, home was only a place to rest one's head and carry out ablutions, a door on which police and child services knocked frequently asking "Are you aware of your daughter's whereabouts and behavior, Ms. Penderghast?", where they'd threaten foster care if measures weren't taken, where the mailbox was only ever full of bills, where Miriam whispered in the flickering light of the six o' clock news "They're gonna repo the car this weekend if dad doesn't pay us alimony."

There was no point going back, only forward. Rootless and stray, home was something Judith carried inside herself. The mortgage, utilities, and job needed to maintain a tangible edifice, Judith would sooner return to prison than burden herself with such fetters. No, maybe Callie needed that safety net, but after so much struggle to eschew it, Judith didn't. Couldn't.

She took a moment to consider her question now turned onto her. "Travel in the Bahamas and plane ticket sense, nah, ain't my thing." Judith commented with a shrug. "That's travel for money-bags, superficial shit, y'know? That tourist-y rot ain't travel. Just going from place to place is, getting the trash of a city on your jeans, its dirt beneath your nails, the asphalt in your gums when someone throws y' to it. That's my kind of travel. Just goin'. No plans, no direction." her voice fading, solemn and distant as something melancholy rippled through.

Judith sipped from her drink, a sigh dismissing her thoughts. "I imagine murder, robbery, and arson weren't the sights you were lookin' to see, eh?" she quipped with a wry smile.
 
Of course Judith wasn't like to travel if it included any sort of obligations. The woman was a free spirit, that was for sure, intolerant of any sort of tethers. Never had Callie met anyone so unwilling to tie themselves to at least one place they could call their home. The notion of aggressively refusing to settle anywhere seemed ignorant to Callie. Why would anyone reject a place to stay? Somewhere that didn't force you to flee like a stray. Perhaps that's what Judith actually wished to do, however peculiar the idea seemed.

A burst of awkward laughter escaped Callie's lips, quiet, a reaction to Judith's jest of sorts. Shaking her head she said, "No, no they're not, that's for sure." Of course Callie would rather go on a nice trip to the Caribbean than see a knife plunge into a man's throat. She'd much prefer exploring the great redwood forests of California than mutilate rotting corpses. Evading the police and leaving bodies in her wake was not any sort of trip Callie had ever wished to embark on.

Slowly, the reflexive smile placed on Callie's face ebbed away. After clearing her throat she drank a few more sips of her beer. The cool liquid running down her throat felt ironically sobering.
 
Dissident, jaded, only happy if she was suffering, if she could say "I have it worse", Judith would take the visceral rush of picking pockets over walking the beach surf any day. Something fractured long ago, forever scarring her malcontent, hellbent on destruction even if it was her own. Judith wished she'd brought the cigarettes with her, if only to busy her hands. She wanted to get drunk. She wanted that respite from time and reality, even if it was fugacious.

"How 'bout this," Judith suggested, an idea suddenly gracing her. "We're traveling, our lives already fucked cold and hard by the law still biting our heels. Why not make the most of it, y'know? I ain't talkin' notoriety," she clarified, eyes narrowing coldly for a moment, "But what d'you say we do a little something you'd like? I mean, there's gotta be some law you've wanted to break, growin' up all confined and content. Beat the shit out of a cat-caller, set fire to a rich fuck's house, trash a fag-hating church." each suggestion she punctuated with another sip of her drink.

"There's gotta be something you wanna let loose?"
 
Melancholy as ever, this outing was not living up to its expectations. Any conversational topic aimed at revealing more of themselves in a casual setting led back to the harsh reality of their predicament, their situation resurfacing at every turn. It upset Callie to think that sitting in a sleazy, dilapidated bar was made out to be a positive change, a location to yield some sort of enjoyment. However bleak it was, the severity of their circumstance made it out to be the closest haven they could nestle into before they reached Canada. Although a few days ago before this whole mess Callie wouldn't touch the door of this place with a ten foot pole, after the rug hadn't been yanked out from under her she had little choice but to make the most of things.

Judith seemed to agree, although judging from what she was currently suggesting they were not quite on the same page. To achieve satisfaction in their predicament Judith suggested committing more crimes, which didn't seem like a great solution in Callie's current opinion. Crime never seemed appealing, but the way Judith spun it elicited some stray musings. The church trashing was a no go despite her hatred for homophones, religious views preventing otherwise. What appealed to her was beating up a cat caller since those shits got under her skin. If only she could make them feel the same discomfort Callie felt when they hooted and hollered lewd things at her.

"Hmmm...perhaps.."Callie considered, eyes glancing upwards as if to find the answer hovering above her.

Contemplative she answered, "Beating up some misogynistic asshole would be sort of fun...but I'm not brave enough to go and beat someone up and they'd probably kick my ass."
 
High-school drop-out, textbook stupid, and too unpredictable to be preemptive, it was evident that Judith was letting her guard slide. The alcohol was taking effect. Fast-food fries had long since passed from her stomach, leaving it empty to absorb the soothing lethargy of inebriation. Judith wasn't thinking about if someone overheard them, wasn't concerned about a future complaint to be filed against two dykes that look suspiciously similar to them. She was locked in the moment, the world slowly condensing around her. Tomorrow felt so far, far away.

She snapped and pointed in favor of Callie's choice. The respect society failed to inculcate was always satisfying to enforce via violence, especially among those who pontificated vociferously. "Consider it on the sight-seeing list." Judith assured, throwing back the rest of her drink. "And I wouldn't worry about him kicking your ass, nobody said it's gotta be a fair fight. And if you need back-up, I'm one squirrely fucker in a brawl. You just mark the piker you wanna drop when you see 'im."

Judith reached for what remained of the beer she had previously used to mix. The bottle was damp with condensation, glass perspiration chilling the tips of her fingers. The music was beginning to sound softer, the world going velvet, her tensions melting. She'd abstained from alcohol for so long. Judith sighed, light an delicate as fog. "Nothin' wrong with the fast life, but after a few days of it I'll bet I could sleep a whole afternoon away."
 
Sight seeing. What world had Callie been thrown into? One where some prick of a man being beaten to a bloodied pulp was sight seeing, violence swapped with the typical nature scenes deemed as scenic. Broken bones replacing snow capped mountains, bloodied spittle splattering the pavement in place of towering evergreens. What a card Callie was thrown, a fork jammed into her life, sending it spiraling down. No longer a mechanic, but a stray confined to the company of a violent ex-convict. A lonesome puppy tailing along after an alcoholic who had an addiction to suffering.

Considering the facts Callie should be sulking now, but she had enough time to accomplish this, plenty of hours to drive and worry. Now she decided to find the amusement in her predicament. Never would Callie have guessed she'd be in this very moment, nor would she believe that she was speaking to Judith as much as she was. After all, when they first met Callie was convinced the woman was going to kill her, and while the possibility still lingered, Judith had passed up enough good opportunities to suggest she would do no such thing. Callie admired Judith in this moment. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was just some extreme sense of optimism that allowed the woman to be so carefree in this moment, posture relaxed and humor in full gear. Each word rolled off her tongue without a trace of apprehension, no censorship, no pessimism. Never would Callie imagine her befriending someone like Judith, but right now she didn't mind her partner's company at all. A light smile creased her face for a moment, fingers unconsciously beginning to scratch at the label of her bottle out of habit.

To Judith's comment Callie replied with a loose nod, "Agreed. I think that we're going to become exhausted real soon."
 
There was portent in Callie's statement, something thicker than superstition. It was a warning sign. The conflagration of sirens and pursuit had consumed Judith's reserves, swallowed the air from Callie's lungs, and left them burnt, their vitality but a glow of embers waiting to be snuffed. They couldn't play Thelma and Louise forever. Enervation would claim them soon enough and Judith could find no sweeter end to exhaustion than that found at the bottom of a glass. She tipped back her beer and let it drain to empty. Hungover seemed the only reasonable way to spend a day off.

The bottle was slid across to join the others, amber glass tinkling as they struck. Judith wanted another, she wanted food too, but alcohol was priority. Eating would only slow her inebriation, gradual instead of exponential. Maybe they could bag it for her. Maybe she could just drink more later in the car. Once shit-faced would it even matter how she got that way?

Judith reclined into the crook of the booth. "When the food's done, get me another drink, would y'." statement in the form of question. Her eyes narrowed a moment in contemplation. She had probably already asked Callie that. Fuck. "That's assuming they just call you up to grab it." Judith eventually added. "Can't suppose we'd get table-side service in a place like this."
 
In anticipation for the meal to come Callie's stomach grumbled softly, the quiet protest swallowed up by the singer's voice as the band transitioned into their next song. As Callie's initial burst of anxiety began to melt away, adrenaline no longer masked her hunger. Now she began to realize how little they had eaten during the past few days, only some pizza and jerky really, the McDonald's left to grow cold. This reality had been pushed aside in Callie's head since there were so many other problems that demanded higher priority. Hiding in attics, assaulting a pizza delivery boy, slaughtering a man in a hotel, having a stake out with a man who worked for a pimp, and mangling and burning corpses had taken up the bulk of their time and efforts, leaving little for basic necessities such as feeding oneself.

Currently Callie occupied her time waiting for food by continuing to pick at her drink's label, nails peeling off tiny fragments of green paper. While Callie's occasional sweeping look around the bar for danger suggested some apprehension, the slower speed of her fidgeting suggested there was some sense of being content.

A voice called from the bar. "Whoever ordered a cheeseburger and a grilled chicken sandwich, your order is ready." A surly looking cook set out two plates on the bar top, offering the seating area a bitter look, clearly showing this was the last place he wished to be right now. Ready to go on break, the portly cook pulled a stained apron off of his chest and chucked it unceremoniously onto a chair in the tiny kitchen. Then he made his way towards the door, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket mid stride and shoving one in between his yellowed teeth.

After he had gone Callie looked to see Judith reclining in the booth, saying something about alcohol. Obediently nodding, up she went and walked over to the bar. To the bartender she said, "Another few fingers of whiskey, please." The man offered a teasing smile as he obliged, asking, "Been a long day, hasn't it?"

Even though the drink wasn't even for her Callie answered with a sigh, "Yes, yes it has been."

The bartender handed over the drink in exchange for cash with no other comments, offering only a light smile as if knowing she'd return to the bar again. Balancing the two plates and the drink Callie made her way back towards the booth, sliding the plate with the grilled chicken sandwich in front of Judith as well as the glass. Sitting down, Callie said, "Wasn't sure what kind of drink you wanted, so I assumed you wouldn't mind more whiskey."

In front of her now was her burger, which warmed the plate and smelled delicious. Exceeding her expectations, the food actually looked quite edible. Upon taking the first bite Callie found her assumption to be correct, eyes nearly fluttering shut with relief. This was better than any soggy, stolen McDonald's fare.
 
She watched Callie leave, eyes following the cadence and sway of her body, liquid-smooth in the low-light and fuzz of bar atmosphere. Like watercolor in motion, the ferrous halo of light reflecting from Callie's skin, soft, soft as spun cotton and fruit bruises, blurring the delineations of her figure against constructs of the bar. Judith blinked slow and looked away. A loneliness, ephemeral and nebulous, swelled like a yawn in her chest before fading all together. It must have been the music.

The band's tone sounded melancholy, like long nights spent in streets of wet asphalt and neon lights, Gloomy Sunday but with the poignant depth of a Górecki symphony. In the velvet of alcohol, Judith's heart felt like water, susceptible to music's vibrations, rippling in sympathy. Given a chance, she could have drowned in it. But mercy came with company. Callie promptly returned with food and libation. Judith received both with a lazy, wry smile.

"Whiskey's good as any liquor." she commented, "Haven't met one that's treated me wrong yet." A quip that rang true if one discounted hangovers and the occasional violent regurgitation. Judith picked through the sandwich, flipping each layer to determine its edibility. No pickles, but there was a tangy orange spread on the bread with which she was ambivalent. The whiskey was more appealing. She took a shallow drink, letting it sit in the well of her mouth, prickling the tip of her tongue before finding the nerve to swallow it. Its raw taste and burn hit the back of her throat like bile, every breathe recirculating the scent. Judith took a full lick of the spread from her sandwich to cleanse her palette.

Noticing Callie eat, she asked, "How's the food taste? Any good?"
 
Processing Judith's answer, Callie thought of how whiskey had done her wrong every time. There was the recent experience of course, fumbling around like a fool and retching into murky water, as well as others in her youth of having quick tastes with the company of her friends as some small form of teen rebellion. Now as Callie idly chewed a mouthful of beef she recalled decades ago sitting cross-legged on her friend's bed, room sweltering, thick with summer. As a breeze ambled in through a parted window Callie's friend, a slightly older teen with access to her parent's alcohol stash, handed over a bottle half full of that dreaded amber liquid. Might as well have been fire. Just as Callie had days ago, much coughing had ensued to the great amusement of her companion. The memory of childish laughter and innocence was bittersweet.

Just as Callie had swallowed a bite of food Judith asked her how it was. "Pretty good, actually. Not as bad as I had anticipated in a place like this,"she answered, looking around the quaint bar in emphasis. That having been said Callie took another bite, feeling famished all of the sudden. Despite her rush to get food into her system she continued to display great table manners, resisting the urge to wolf it down. Just because she was on the lam, didn't mean Callie had to act like an animal. Even if the physical and mental grime she had accumulated made her feel as if such behavior would only be fitting.

After allowing a brief pause Callie decided to start another conversation, to try to better get to know the woman she'd likely spend plenty of more time with. "So," Callie began as she took a moment to remove her focus from her meal. "Besides the drug dealing and what not you've done in the past, do you have any sort of hobby or activity that you enjoy? Not drinking, because I already know that." Before Judith answered Callie felt like she should make the question sound more casual, not as if she were pressing for answers of mocking Judith. Loquaciously she added with the trace of a smile, "Nothing like crafting or something more suburban mom like, but some activity."
 
Not wanting to delay further inebriation, Judith was tempted to eschew eating until her drink was finished. But her ambivalence grew as Callie averred the food's favorable gustatory qualities. She could use a little salt. Chicken was salty, right? They brine the shit or... something. Judith didn't know, but reasoned that all animal flesh had some kind of salt and there was more alcohol in the car if she really needed it. Fuck it, she reassembled the sandwich and took a bite.

It was the absolute tits. Maybe it was product of the alcohol, or that Judith hadn't eaten anything freshly prepare in years. But it was seasoned and savory and satisfied more than any optimistic outlook could have guessed. She took a second bite and considered Callie's inquiry. A hobby, something Judith reasoned to be "shit people do in their free time regularly". Her life was too mercurial and transient for much of anything to happen regularly outside of what sustained her living. Drinking, sampling her wares, and sleep filled those hours in between, methods of forgetting for a little while what suffering came with her self-made hell.

Judith took another quaff of whiskey before expunging its taste with another sampling of chicken, biding time to find something to say. But alcohol left her ingenuous. There was nothing to say except truth. "To be honest, there isn't much in life I've stopped to enjoy." she replied with candor. "I usually tried to either get fucked or fucked up if you catch my drift. When neither of those were available I'd watch television if it was there, sometimes flip through radio stations. But more often than not I'd just sit the fuck down and watch the world go by." she laughed darkly to herself, lips twisting in a wry grin. "Funny how I'd spend my whole life lookin' for freedom, but can't find shit to do in a moment's free-time."
 
While chewing thoughtfully on a bite of burger Callie anticipated Judith's response. Was it even feasible that Judith possessed a hobby? To Callie it didn't seem likely that Judith had the luxury of such passions considering the bits and pieces of information she had given suggested the difficult of scraping by in life. Anyone that refused conventional occupations more than likely refused to partake in more conventional hobbies. The idea of Judith performing a mundane hobby like knitting nearly brought a goofy grin to her face. Mental imagery of the unusually tough woman seated in a rocking chair with knitting needles in hand, working with some musty baby blue yarn, only proved more amusing in its level of sheer unlikelihood. To avoid smiling like a fool Callie swallowed her bite of food and took another.

The truth didn't surprise Callie. This poor woman did little than survive and drink it seemed. Perhaps do drugs or even indulge in risque activities with others. It was Callie's best interest that Judith got "fucked up" and not "fucked." The last thing they needed to do on the run was sleep around with others, not that getting shit faced drunk was good for them anyways. The event was pretty much inevitable based on the amount of alcohol Judith was currently consuming. Callie hoped Judith was a happy drunk, although chances seemed slim considering the woman's ingrained sense of aggression.

No recreation could explain why Judith seemed like a bitter person. How could anyone find any comfort in this mutilated world without any passion to distract them? Drugs. For those either unwilling or unable to settle on a healthy activity to partake in there was always some form of narcotics or alcohol to force them into a stupor. Too bad alcohol couldn't numb pain permanently. Miraculously Callie felt pity towards the same woman who had put a bullet through a kid's skull just a few hours ago, and in an attempt to alleviate what pain Judith must have been feeling under the stress of the world Callie would allow her a night to get smashed. It wasn't like Judith was going to drive tonight anyways.

To offer a response Callie swallowed and cleared her throat awkwardly. "That's rough....Well, if you had the time and resources, is there any other activity you'd pursue? Just for shits and giggles,"Callie asked, trying to lighten things up, a futile task in this scenario.
 
Rough, Judith chuckled at the word. Such a funny, fitting words. Rough was the asphalt that grated her skin. Rough was her cotton-mouth tongue that preceded a hangover. Rough were the bed sheets of an ephemeral inamorata. But coarsest of all was herself. A life beneath sandpaper, one would think Judith smoothed, but nothing of her was so refined. Chipped and pitted, Judith mirrored her life inimitably. Long had her softness withered, fragile, hiding behind tooth and scale. Rough...

Judith took a drink.

Callie's question was simple, but Judith hadn't any simple answer to provide. It was like asking what she would do if not be herself, how would she live uninhibited by survival's mantle. Her identity hinged on her lifestyle, on dissidence and recalcitrance. What else was there beside the yawning somnolence in her chest, jaded pleading for rest? ... When had she become so monomaniacal, so shallow?

The glass tapped loud against the table as Judith set it down. "People like me don't usually live long enough to see such opportunity." she said solemnly. "Fuck knows I haven't thought about it much." Quiet, then a sigh that pulled her into circumlocution. "Dogs are good. Never had one growing up, but I've always liked 'em. Maybe I'd get a dog, learn to grow some shit. Not shit to sell like pot or shrooms, but like shit you'd eat. Like tomatoes. Had a neighbor who grew 'em when I was a kid and she'd give us some in the summer. They were good. Maybe I'd try an' live off the land. Say 'Fuck it' to society and just be a hermit." she smiled derisiveness to herself. "But scavengers of the concrete jungle aren't really cut out for that, are we? To soft for the wilds. Should've been a girl scout, yeah? Fuckers gotta do more than sell cookies right?" Judith's brow knit in realization. "They'd probably have kick me out for smoking though. Wouldn't want me influencing their prodigal daughters an' all."
 
Lightly Callie set her burger back down onto her plate, forgoing the temptation of taking a drink and instead eagerly awaiting Judith's response or if there would be one. Nails picked at the plastic laminate of the table. The answer didn't appear to come easily to Judith, biding some time by taking a drink. Almost lazily, Callie's eyes watched the glass make the journey to Judith's waiting lips before being placed on the table again with an audible clink. There was little surprise to hear Judith hadn't given the idea much thought over the years, the lifestyle she had held making that unlikely.

A dog. While still making an effort to catch the rest of Judith's response, there was a shift in Callie's mind towards a particular memory. Back about six years ago. A crisp autumn day at the park, lounging on a blue checkered blanket under the shifting light that filtered through a young oak tree. The scent of hot dogs drifted from a vendor located across the quaint strip of lush grass, laying under a lazy blue sky. Leaning up against Callie's shoulder was another young woman, features outlined with a smile. Blonde hair splayed across the fabric of Callie's shirt.

Callie and the woman, named Emma, had been seated quietly enjoying their closeness when a middle aged man with his toddler aged son ambled onto the stretch of green before them, a dog in tow. With golden fur and a black lipped smile, the Golden Retriever was the epitome of man's best friend. Enthusiastically it trailed after its owners, tail wagging like a propeller. The kid giggled genuinely and crouched by his dog, the canine promptly greeting its companion with a few licks. More giggling ensued and Emma had sighed, prompting Callie's attention. "I want one,"Emma commented.

"A kid?"Callie asked quizzically, raising an eyebrow.

"No, of course not," Emma laughed, lifting her head from Callie's shoulder with a grin on her face, blue eyes twinkling. "I want a dog,"she clarified. The misunderstanding brought a light smile to Callie's face and she replied,"Maybe one day."

The memory was bittersweet and left an ache in Callie's art. She was more than happy to find solace in the small bar with the company of Judith than revisit some of her memories of her ex-wife, ones that always left her feeling hollow. Callie took a drink but alcohol couldn't patch the wound.

Judith's jest about being a girl scout earned a half-hearted laugh from Callie. After a pause and a silent sigh Callie offered a response to Judith's previous statement to keep the conversation alive. Callie couldn't bare silence now. Her mind couldn't be left to its devices. "Living off the land is pretty fulfilling. I always liked how my family took a lot of resources from our land, grains, milk, meat, and simple vegetables and such. Of course we weren't totally hermit-like, as we did have to get anything else we didn't grow or raise ourselves." There was no mention of dogs.
 
Back to cows, the herbivorous heifers of bucolic living. Beef, milk, cheese, manure, leather, even the bones boiled for stock. Judith's imagination, gone vagrant with alcohol, thought the beasts Chinese in function. Every piece finding purpose to human hands, nothing of waste, all process and produce. Make gelatin from their hooves. Clip-clop, vegans won't eat altoids 'cause of the animal gelatin. Didn't you know that, Judith? Cows, man. Fucking cows.

"Cows, they're like..." Judith paused, struggling for the right word. "They're like thrift stores. Even after you get the main use outta something it's still got 7 more kinds of uses." Ambiguous congruence at best, but Judith thought her point clarion in its delivery. So much so that a fugacious fancy took her thought. Maybe they could live off cows. Cow farmers! Ranchers? Whatever proper term the profession of cannibalizing cows took, it could be their vocation. They could live as Judith's ancestors in hide tents, wear leather vestments, and perfect the art of cows. ... Though cows were rather conspicuous, something fugitives couldn't afford. Her incipient dream dashed, Judith finished her drink.

"Must've been nice while it lasted." she commented absently, privately damning the cows for temping her with hopes. Much hamburger was to be eaten in the near future, Judith silently avowed as much. "But home on the range and amber waves aside," she segued. "How does someone go from cows to cars? Wasn't interested in the family business?"
 
The gears were turning in Judith's head. Alcohol's effects were beginning to become evident, making the act of speaking more difficult. Apparently the notion of farming was a lot for Judith's drunken mind to take in, resulting in a short pause that left Callie to consume some more of her burger and a loose fry, negating the saltiness with another small sip of her beer. Callie could only imagine what Judith was thinking of as she watched the features of the other woman's face contort subtly, musing.

It was very true that cows had multiple purposes, whether it be using their hides for clothing or furniture, using their milk for dairy products like cheese and butter, meat for consumption in various dishes, as well as even their hooves. While Judith was correct about their resourcefulness, Callie was left briefly puzzled as to why this information was important. Drawing evidence for the next pause that ensued and the slight shifting of Judith eyes, much thought appeared to be going on. Most likely not very organized, shaken up by alcohol. Perhaps more bovine trivia.

The question Judith asked next was non unique. It had popped up before in many conversations, whether it be with coworkers or companions. More often than not it came from family members, drilling her as to why the family business wasn't good enough for her. "Don't get me wrong, I do enjoy some aspects of farming. I just, well, I found I enjoyed cars much more,"Callie started.

"My dad had taught me to fix cars when I was young and my love for tinkering and fixing began there. If he'd have known that beforehand I'm sure he would have never allowed me even to change the oil in his car,"she joked lightly, cracking a smile for a moment.
 
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