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Show 228 BARBECUE Drought, why should it bother him? Living in a farmhouse in Ohio didn't make him a goddamn farmer. Philip stood at the kitchen window, staring out over the dry earth and dying grass; studied the barn, the red and peeling paint. Watched as a dull patch of dust, kicked up by the neighbor's bay, became a part of the dirty late-afternoon sky. On the horizon, heat sat visibly on the sick and yellowed fields, corn and alfalfa and beans. Drought. Philip shook his head. Imagined the sound of it rattling, dry and empty as a gourd; as dry as this Ohio summer; as empty as the desert. Philip squeezed shut his eyes, pushed his fingers tight to the lids. The desert. Opened his eyes. Now he could see a hundred |
