By Guest Author Vol Lindsey 11/29/2019 SLACKER I’m an old man now, so everything is a memory tinged with the frustration of fiery desire that lingers on in my orange sundowns and sleepless nights. I tossed my empty bucket list next to a random stand of cactus where it will rust away for an unimportant eon or two. It leaked, so passersby who see its dented carcass will pay no mind. The fog outside my window is thick enough that my rheumy eyes have no idea what’s going on past that field out back I have no plans for. It needs a new fence, a job I don’t want to tackle. If I did, I’d have to make all manner of lists involving times, tools, and material that would do nothing to assuage the flames licking at my ankles and calves. It is a good road from me to you. There are pubs all along the way, and trees with nesting birds, deer all antlered out who stomp the ground and snort; little white churches sending their beautiful young decked out in finery to be fruitful and multiply. But I am an old man now possessed with fiery desires and no lighter pine or kindling to be found anywhere in the deserted ghost town where I have chosen do the thing I used to call life.