Somewhere Beyond Bridgeville:
Jimmy Reaches the End of His Shift

Jimmy had been setting chokers since sunrise. He was beat. But as he made his way out of the pummeled ravine, something in the slash stopped him dead. The knot bumper had left behind a round filled with whorls he recognized, ringers for Van Gogh's "Starry Night." The movement in the grain, the hue of wet interior wood, all profoundly painterly. Sun dipped. Jimmy inhaled. The air, heavy with diesel, sawdust, and soil, cooled. He stared at the miraculous round. Jimmy removed a glove and ran a hand over the textured surface, then heaved it face down in the dirt.