“This one’s gold. Annnnd (grunts while reaching into the wagon for another one)… *this* one’s gold.”
She pauses in her work to look around the Badlands business. “Jeez, looks like they’re *all* gold to me, huh.”
Her boss comes out of left field and tells her it’s quitting time.
“Do I come back tomorrow?” she asks expectantly, wiping her hands on her jeans before inserting them into its pockets.
He also looks around at all the rocks, gauges the height of the piles, their diameter, whether more rocks can be added to them right now. “Mmmmm. We’ll see. Stay close to your phone in the morning.”
“Oh. Oh okay.”
He stares at her pants, then decided to add: “I’d recommend washing your hands before leaving, err–” He stops; he can’t remember her name; he decides to continue like no awkward pause occurred. “Anyway, ahem, some of these, um, rocks might contain uranium, uh hmm. Not enough to kill you or anything (hardy laugh here). Just as a precaution. Soap’s on the sink in the bathroom over there.” He exits back to the left after pointing in that direction. Fern is alone. No call in the morning as it turns out. Another day off to enjoy the desert sun and wind. Maybe even a dust storm midday to break up the monotony. Out of sunscreen, though, with no money left to buy. She’s hoping for rain.
(to be continued)
Sunklands 