Bud was a looker. Tall with jet black hair and flashing blue eyes. Pam thought he looked like a druid. His hair fell in waves to his shoulders. His beard was perfectly manicured. Paula preferred it immensely to the fu man chu he’d sported when they first met. He spoke with decisiveness always and carried himself confidently and erect. He worked at the local plant and came home dirty every day. He would shower for an hour, coming out squeaky clean. He took special care of his manicure. Pam loved his strong hairy hands. She watched in fascination as he made the most mundane moves, like changing the radio channels, shifting gears, but especially when he held her hand in his.
They lived in a garage apartment with no view and no light. It was dingy and small, but it was cheap - all they could afford. Bud’s shift work schedule meant Pam was in the apartment at night when sirens screamed and homeless men roamed the street. This caused so much alarm that she talked Bud into buying her a puppy. Pam called it her watchdog and spoiled it rotten. She never house broke it.
They bought a new car, a two-seater 1975 Fiat X-1-9, with a mid-engine and a tiny trunk in the front. Bud loved that car. He drove with the same precision as he spoke. He moved through traffic with ease, revving the engine and outmaneuvering everyone else on the road. Pam thought he should drive Indy. They longed for a home, an investment in the future, Bud called it, and scoured the want ads in search of a deal every weekend. After wading through stacks of paper, he hit upon the idea of buying a house that had been repossessed. He learned that the government had some and they auctioned them off. He’d heard you could get one dirt cheap if you didn&rsq...