Pierce was walking across the lawns of the homes of Lima county, his pipe hanging just barely in the corner of his mouth. Not the same pipe that he bargained to see the girl, this one had a carved claw that held the bottom bowl. Lavy shipped it to him, it was from his collection. Wasn't that a hoot, his sister who was always trying to get him to stop smoking was now sending him a pipe.
Things were grim indeed. This meant she thought that A. he wasn't making progress. B. thought that he might be losing his edge. C. he was going to become a lose cannon soon D. needed a piece of himself to retain his sanity. E. replace all the letters B-D with commas, begin the sentence where A is.
He looked at the front of the houses as he walked by them, carrying with him a bottle that held a quarter of Wild Turkey whiskey. This house, the one with the foot tall decorative green wrought iron fence that protected the flower bed from feral rabbits, would do. He kicked off his shoes, then plopped onto the ground, temporarily parting with his pipe and bottle as he peeled off his socks then pulled his shirt off over his head, he still wore a wife beater underneath.
Wife beater, child beater, after a second thought he took that off as well and sat back on the grass, resting on his elbows. Pulling his bottle close to him as he looked up at the stars. You could actually see them here in Ohio, especially now that most of the state couldn't power a light bulb. He stuck his pipe back into his mouth, taking a drag before he looked back up at the sky.
Two, three, how many weeks had he been out here? And not one goddamn thing to show for it. Not one fucking plan. It was a fucking maximum security prison, what could he expect to accomplish on his own? Martyrdom?