Three Brothers

Three brothers stand on the top of a little hill 10 minutes outside of a small town in Oregon.

The oldest brother, in a white hoodie and sandals, inhales from the hash pipe without coughing. He berates the youngest brother for his stupidity and relates his personal tale of woe. "I was an opiate addict for about three months. Did heroin for a week straight and then off and on. But, I'm done with that shit now."

The youngest brother, face freshly shaved and slightly swollen, explains himself. "I didn't fall off my long-board. I was rolling and I chewed my face. I took two blue pistols." Blue pistols are usually cut with meth. He doesn't know that yet. "I was so detached today that I spent all day playing video games."

The middle brother, cigarettes in one pocket and Altoids in the other, tries to come up with something to say. "I might spend another few years in school. One of my professors thinks my project could publish. That could pay for grad school if I do it right. Hell, I could even get a PhD. Fucking weird shit."

They don't have much to say to each other on the drive back. The veteran, the academic, and the hapless hedonist. They sit in silence, trying to bridge the gap between their disparate worlds. They won't succeed. Not for a long time.


Family, right?