This shack sits on the back of my land and I never want to take it down. I love it. It reminds me that even in my attempts to be respectable, I will always remain low class. I wish at times that a man who smokes a corncob pipe lives there and he has a still that he shares rotgut whiskey with me as we sit around the fire, careful not to burn down his shack. I tried to walk into my shack once, but I became afraid, because I would rather live with my fantasy of what is in there than the reality that the only thing that lives there are bugs and dirt.

Photo – S
Words – S