What To Do If Your Dog Eats Laxatives

Acquaraggia 156 - Alessandro Nipresa 86

 Avatar: James Hetfield 

 BOSS! 
 
 Trapped under the ice. 
 "I'm inside one of my songs." Four feet of snow surrounded the hut in which James had been closed for three days with the rest of the expedition. Four cots fulfilled, the stove was going full speed, on the table of beans, dried meat. Shotguns. And the bottles. 
 Outside Russia and the snow. 
 inside the bottles. The transparent glass and vodka; as if there were. 
 One of the Russians, his face reddened by webs of capillaries exploded, pushed a bottle to James. 
 As if there's something else to do, there in the ass of the world. 
 James threw down a shot in only the last two fingers of vodka. 
 Applause, laughter. 
 The sound of glass falling on the ground. 
 Fade to Black. 
 
 Solo. 
 There was no one. His hunting companions, three Russians who paid five hundred U.S. dollars per day per head to take him hunting and instead were only able to do so by trapping most colossal snowstorm that James had ever seen, were gone. The door was closed, their guns were still there, backpacks, all but they were not there. 
 James raised his face from the table. The bottle was full again. He drank. 
 He got hard. Outside 
 had stopped snowing. Maybe the assholes were out to piss. Together. Without jackets. 
 took a rifle, cocked it and opened the door. The chill out 
 greeted him with a slap. 
 There was nothing. Nothing. 
 Everything was clear and empty. He turned 
. 
 The hut was gone. 
 There was only emptiness. Transparent. 
 Even his body had disappeared. 
 Coero only one thing. 
 a hand on him. Fingers clutching a giant wooden cross from which came down as thick as the wire rods of the Bay Bridge. 
 "Master!" 
 
 He woke up screaming. 
 was lying in his living room. She had dreamed of the new Russia. 
 He tried to sit leaning against the couch, but his right hand moved alone to a bottle on the table. 
 As the arm of a puppet. 
 "Master".