Winter Lottery
In the gray, frozen months, the pack rats moved into the garage and ruined everything. Their piss burned through aluminum. They gnawed through air filters and slept in carburetors. We live-trapped them in skunk cages using peanut butter and chicken guts. On Saturday mornings, my father let me empty them into five-gallon buckets half filled with water. He’d sneak me a cigarette and share his thermos of hazelnut coffee. We placed bets on how long it would take. At night we could hear them chisel at the stars. They died with their secrets.
