the smuggler’s bible


Ebben hauls on the rope until he can hear the bucket scraping along the rough stones lining the well. He pauses.

“This one feels good.”

“You said that before, too.”

“I maintain that those comments were made with honest, though mistaken, belief.”

“Then I suspect the current sentiment will be among great company.”

Ebben’s eyes shine and he clenches his fists around the rope, ready to haul. “Sounds like you’re sure enough to take a bet.”

“Fuck you, you’re on.”

It’s just sludge, but Ebben doesn’t pay, assuming the position that poverty supersedes principle in certain (if not all) matters.