Back home there lies a man in a shallow grave. I buried him there just before the Fall’s first frost. The dogs will find him in the spring. They’ll know it was me, but won’t come looking. He was an evil man.
No one will mourn him. At least no one who knew about his mattress full of cash. All they’ll find there are crumpled up newspapers and forty dollars to throw them off the trail. One more mattress score and I’ll be able to retire.
The new town and job suck. I wonder where the boss keeps his money.
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Talk to me dude