Ugly Ducklings

Floyd stood holding a cold can of Coors Light. With each drunken wave of his hand, beer splashed from the lip of his can onto the sleeve of his dull-brown coat. He talked about how he was considering a Veterinarian degree now that he’d been fired from the ski lift up on Crested Butte. Apparently a flask of Jack Daniels wasn’t required snow gear.

Continue reading Ugly Ducklings