the smuggler’s bible


An old boyfriend rolls into town and keeps moving until he’s so close to Bronwen’s door that his nose is touching wood. He doesn’t have to knock, and he knows it.

“Go the fuck away,” she says through the mail slot.

He kneels down to hear her better.


“I said go away.”

“Okay, that’s fair. I deserve it, but I really need a place to crash.”

Silence. He thinks about forcing the door but an old instinct stops him.

“Do you have a knife in there?”

“Among other things,” Bronwen says, her grip tightening on rawhide wrapped over wood.