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Weekend at the Lake House
By digitalprimate
Ever since the Tim lost his job, things between he and Vicky had been a little strained. They decided to meet Tim's parents for a long weekend at the lake house. Late Sunday morning, Tim took a walk.
Tim wandered patiently through the woods, humming some funny old song, until he found just the right ash, the kind whose smoke Vicky said reminded her of pleasant childhood idylls and their first night together in the lake house years ago.
He had a little place out back of the house for cutting. He didn't cut often, but he enjoyed it when he did. Maybe it's been too long since he'd last cut.
Finally Tim began to relax, things became clearer and easier to think about.

Yep, cutting felt good, felt right. When the chain synced just so with the ever growing groove in the wood, it felt just like cutting butter for pancakes on a cold Sunday morning before the family wakes up. It felt *that* kind of right, the *good* kind of right.

It didn't feel anything like catching Vicky in bed with his father.
Later that night, after he'd cleaned up, Tim drank the last of the Bourbon and soaked in the lovely smoke from the ash.
Monday morning, Tim took his time driving back to the city, noticing every pretty tree on the way home.
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