Tiller the Pig
The phone rang. My mom picked it up. “Hello… Well… Wow… Yeah… We'll come pick him up in a few hours… Okay… Bye” she said in a one-sided conversation. She left the coiled corded rotary phone that hung from the wall, and sat down at the kitchen table with her coffee. “Niemeyer’s just called. They have a sick pig they want to get rid of. Marsha’s going to be here any time though.” Marsha was the same age as my mom, had been...
