“Alice! Bring me a damn beer, willya?” Preston called, scratching his crotch under the covers. He heard a clatter in the other room, then the opening and closing of the refrigerator. Alice, sweaty hair hanging across her brow from under a scarf wrapped around her head, walked in with a still-foaming can of Budweiser.

He took it from her and swigged it, then let loose a ripping fart under the sheets. Alice closed her eyes, but said nothing. “What’re you doin’ in there, anyway?” he asked her, annoyance in his voice. “You're makin' a lot of noise, and you look like hell!”

“I’ve been cleaning out the cabinets and the refrigerator. I’ve been working that second job so I hardly ever have time to do it. Since today’s a holiday I figured I’d try to get it done,” she replied, swiping her arm across her forehead and leaving a muddy trail.

“Well, when you get through with that, this room needs some work, too,” he said, waving vaguely at the ceiling. “Enough cobwebs up there to start our own silk factory!”