Urn It
You'd think I'd get tired of it, this bunkhouse. I haven’t though. I love these guys. We work hard. We play hard. We do the leg work that keeps the ranch running and we do it well. We used to, anyway. I died three years ago and have been bound to this urn since. The boys were really good about making sure it was a nice one. I'm pretty sure Daniel, my brother, had something to do with that. A horse kicked me in the head. Can you believe that shit? I died instantly. Three years dead and incinerated, yet I can see and hear. Weird, right? Can't get off this shelf, though. I've watched these guys all this time, especially Daniel. It hasn't all been nice. Recently, they've taken to the dope. The yayo, you know? We never did any of that shit when I was around. Some beer, maybe. A little bit of herb even. But we never brought in the coke. Cell phones make it pretty easy, though, even way out here. It was going to happen eventually. Daniel's hooked. I know it. He...