The Caretaker of Lorne Field

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Jack Durkin let out a groan as his wife, Lydia, dropped a bowl of corn flakes in front of him.

“Aw, woman,” he moaned. “You trying to kill me? Corn flakes? This makes twenty-three days straight now.”

“You don’t like it? Get a job that pays money.”

“Get a job that pays money,” he said, mimicking her. “I got a job, you old hag-”

“Don’t you dare call me that!”

“Well,” he said, sniffing, “don’t you make fun of my job then. I spend every day saving this world, and don’t you forget it!”

She laughed at that. “Saving the world? You old fool, you spend all your time pulling out weeds from a field nobody cares about.”

“Pulling out weeds?” he exclaimed with indignation. “Hell you say! I spend every goddamn day from winter thaw to first frost saving this worthless planet. Those ain’t no weeds I’m pulling. They’re Aukowies, as you damn well know! Weeds, huh? Do weeds scream every time you kill one of them?”

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