Shawn Huelle

untitled (disjointed biography)

I suppose that's when it all fell apart. But before that, there were, I suppose, telltale signs. She would get drunk every weekend at first. Saturdays were for crying and Sundays were for beatings. We never went to church. Later, she was just drunk all the time and she beat me through the tears. I grew up, hit back, learned to drive, stole my first car, and drove myself the fuck out of there. Jail was never too bad, but the three years I spent in prison made me rethink a few things. I worked in bars when I worked. I don't drink. I snort a line or two every now and again. I know how to listen, but drunks all tell the same story. It's always someone else's fault. I guess I stole that first car because Sundays were for beatings, but I stole the second through thirty-fifth cars because it was fun. That's on me. But it was fun. So was playing cards in jail. There were no cards in prison, and the guards didn't go to church, but Sundays were holy to them. I know why so many people like to sleep late on Sunday. I try to sleep through Sunday. I met Debbie at one of the bars where I worked. I mean, I worked bars and not garages because the drunks will always provide you with an alibi. They rarely really know who's pouring. Debbie liked to drive fast. Some people are just clichés because they don't know any better. Debbie didn't know much other than that her looks were fading and she was going to have to get a plan real quick. I admit I was lured by her charms. No, we never divorced. She wrapped herself around a tree at 120 miles per hour. I never knew trees were that fucking strong.