You could call it mobile

but really, it wasn’t mobile. 

Even Angie’s stuffed dog wasn’t going anywhere. 

John wanted to blame the economy. But he was the only one fired. A dozen others of similar experience and - in his estimation - talent level, remained. It wasn’t the economy. It was the puke at the Christmas party or the time he walked to the copier, stared at it, took a lighter from his pocket and tried to set it on fire. There was also the time he rammed his car into three others in the parking lot and broke down sobbing, face down on the steering wheel, but he had explained that as a simple medication mixup. That could not be the problem. 

The trailer didn’t have wheels and really, it wasn’t mobile. Leaving the wife and Angie with no home and stealing off to the Canadian border in the fall night towing everything that need to move in one simple shot was not a realistic option. Because the trailer did not have wheels.

He also did not have enough money for gas. 

This budget issue, further complicated by the lack of income and the spending of the last paycheck on 463 scratch off tickets, one 12 pack of Two Hearted Ale and a carton of cigarettes had decimated the remaining paycheck. 

He could kill himself, but that seemed unnecessarily messy and dramatic. Also, there was the future possibility of hobo bridge sex to look forward to. 

No. There was only one option. He would finish the one 12 pack of Two Hearted Ale, smoke four packs of the carton of cigarettes, light the losing scratch off tickets (461 in total) on fire, walk in the door of the stationary home, present his wife the $4 he had won and life would continue forward.