The Reward of the Wicked
By
Timothy C.
Phillips
Millard lived in an old trailer up in the woods off Highway 77.
The damned trailer
was thirty years old, he guessed, and the wiring came and went; the thing still had a fuse
box, and fuses blew all the...
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The Reward of the Wicked
By
Timothy C.
Phillips
Millard lived in an old trailer up in the woods off Highway 77.
The damned trailer
was thirty years old, he guessed, and the wiring came and went; the thing still had a fuse
box, and fuses blew all the time.
He couldn’t wash clothes and cook at the same time, or
something would pop.
Not that he could complain.
His landlord lived about a hundred
yards away, and helped him out any way he could, under the circumstances.
The
Landlord’s mother was a bit of an old bitch, though, always watching him.
All in all it
wasn’t bad, though.
Rent was dirt cheap (though, Millard thought, it damn well better be,
for this crate) and it was pretty quiet, except for the other neighbors.
The other neighbors, whose names Millard had never learned, had moved in a
new, double-wide trailer about fifty yards uphill from Millard’s; had placed it an angle
perpendicular, erected a chicken wire fence, although they had no chickens, and enjoyed
playing loud, b
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