The hole in him grew bigger.
The sun shined through,
the rain fell out the other side.
He had no idea how to mend
the hole:
stitches fell apart,
bandages fell off,
he tried liquor,
barbecue ribs and barbecue chicken,
baked potatoes,
fast cars,
big trucks,
all terrain vehicles,
a gluten free diet,
free trade organic coffee,
bok choy,
sit ups,
dodge ball and
herbal tea,
but still the hole got bigger.
A toothless, wrinkled woman with sallow flesh approached him in downtown Courtenay.
“Can you give me some money? I need something to eat,” she begged.
“No, I don’t have any money,” he lied.
“Can I have those empties?”
She asked for his large empty green plastic water bottles that floated around in the bed of his truck.
They were worth twenty cents each. He thought about it.
“Okay,” he handed her the bottles.
She struggled to carry them all as he watched her lope down the street.
Shortly thereafter while eating store bought sushi in his truck and waiting for the ferry to take him back to his gulf island resort he noticed his hole puckered a little and the foul winds that blew through weren’t as cold.