In Over Her Head by Elsie Russell - Parnasse.com

littered with greasy paper plates of once hot snacks, a universal remote,
and a long nose .357 magnum.
"Have a brewski and a Pizza Pocket, Penny. You could use a
little meat on your bones, girl." Without moving from his spot on the
sofa Mike dunked his hand in the slush of a cooler by the side of the
couch and handed her a dripping can, went back to staring at the TV
where a grizzly ripped the head off a flailing salmon through waves of
static.
Behind the TV a huge brand new American flag was stapled
over the window as curtain sunshade.
"K.C. catchin' any caribou up there?" Penny pointed back to
the antlers.
"Hell, no, he's out on the ice pack, had his trigger finger lopped
off by a chain. Bitch of a job, rigs. He ain't sendin' no money back
either, just gamblin' and spendin' it on whores. Din' even come home
for the funeral. Assed aboutcha when I called. I see ya got a ring, you
engaged?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"What's he like?"
"He's Italian, well kinda French too. It's complicated."
"Hey, juss like Steve Albini! Shit! Wops and frogs, cocksuckin'
faggots, all of 'em. What you need is some good all American cock, no
substitute, man. That's why you're lookin' so ragged at the edges."
He spat on the floor. Bosco, his Labrador bitch, slinked in and
licked it up. The other dogs were curled up around the kerosene
furnace that occupied a full third of the room.
The front door slammed and Jess, the middle boy, slipped in.
Mitch immediately had the Magnum locked on his brother's head. Jess
ignored the gun but saw Penny and grinned a mouthful of black
stumps. He hopped around the room until he found and extricated a
metal box from a pile of video cassettes. Squatting down, he unlocked
it with a key that hung from a rawhide around his neck along with
other talismans: a dried badger foot, a crystal charm, a tattered feather.
Forehead beaded with sweat, his eyes darted about as he took a wad of
money from the box, pocketed it, locked the box, stood up and
skittered out the door.
Kerosene, set me on fire.
With a sigh, Mitch put the gun back down on the table next to
the remote, rubbed the blubber tire around his back and picked up
another Pizza Pocket.
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