he works contract jobs for a sattelite installation company. every day, he wakes up at six a.m, is clocked in by 7:30. most days, he drives out to the suburbs, installing for millionaires whose horny wives gaurd the fortress. (there's nothing a woman loves more than a man in uniform; the actual occupation implied by said uniform is inconsequential.)

he wants to start a truck-driving business. he figures he'll earn at least double what he's making now, after expenses. there's maintenance and gas to be considered, and he figures insurance will set him back about a grand every month. but hey, the price is right, and at least he'll have weekends off...

the work is interspersed with premium television channels, images of car chases cut away to the ugly floral-print shapes of the millionaire's wives hanging about in the doorframes. "do you need anything?" she asks suggestivly. cut away to him in his bedroom holding his stiff dick firmly in one hand, a tube of vaseline in the other.

sometimes, he posts personals on the casual dating website. each one is vague and incomplete, promising nothing and everything all at once. two images of his manhood grace the bottom half of the page.

most times, they are as grateful to him as he is to them. the only difference is, he buries it deep beneath the shame indifference brings. they wear it all over their desperate faces.

he tries not to look at them as he pulls on his clothes. with his back to them, he agrees that maybe they should get together again. they make small talk, he pulls his baseball cap tight around his buzzcut.

he never sees the same one twice.

his life cuts away to the dinner table, to his mother's cooking. cut away to his pillow in the darkness, to a special on the history channel on some genocide or long-forgotten kingdom. cut away to dreams of him driving down the interstate toward a place with a warmer climate. driving toward his daughter on the foot of the mountain.

he packs up his tools, wipes big hands over the front of his coveralls. he tries to politely edge past the millionairess wedged in the doorway. the vaseline is waiting for him, in the top drawer-- just where he left it.