Conversations continueMature

Haydon is steering his pickup across the wild grasses and tall weeds. Homer sitting next to him said, "Did you know that back in the day, this section 47, was known as Potter's Field?"

Haydon, maneuvering around a large cottonwood limb buried in the tall weeds, asked, "Who's Potter?"

"Hell, I don't know, it was before my time. But that's where they buried poor folks that couldn't pay for a decent burial."

Haydon stopped the truck. "This is the place."

"Oh, man," Homer said climbing out of the truck. "We gotta cut all these weeds before we dig." He lit up a Camel.

Haydon came around the back of the truck and tossed Homer a shovel. "Who are we puttin' in the ground, today?"

"I don't know, I haven't read the cheat sheet." Homer said, taking the folded paper out of his flannel shirt pocket. Talking around the cigarette hanging from his lips, he read aloud. "Daniel Harris, eighty four years old."

Haydon straightened up from hoeing. "You're shittin" me?"

Homer looked at his friend and shrugged. "You know him?"

"He owned the town bank. He was also the Mayor back in the '70's. You sure you got the right sheet? This guy had big bucks, they sure as hell can't be burying him in this God forsaken patch of earth."

Homer, digging his cell phone from his pants, said, "I'll check."  

Haydon wiped sweat from his eyes. "Gonna be a hot one," he said to himself. Homer had wandered through the weeds and was sitting on the cottonwood limb. Haydon produced his ever ready can of Copenhagen and stuck a pinch in his mouth.

Homer snapped shut his cell phone and waded back through the weeds. "No mistake. I guess his grand kids didn't get any inheritance. He gave all his money to charities, left the kids a dollar each."

Haydon laughed. "Wonderful, a banker with a sense of humor." 

Homer dug his shovel into the earth. "Yeah, and his grand kids inherited it." 

The End

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