Liquid Of Life

        “Steven! Shteeven. Get up here you rat!” Hank slurred, his voice rolling down the long spine of Gladdis, a trans-desert tanker.

        Steven bolted to the cab, hoisting too-big trousers. “Boss?”

        Hank's one working eye burrowed into Steven. “Boy,” he said, raising the driver’s water tube to his lips. He took a long pull of lukewarm, suspiciously thick liquid. “What is this?” Cream-spittle flecked Steven’s grease-soaked vest.

        “Ranch, sir.”

        “Not water?” Hank croaked, eye wide.

        Hank’s hand swung to his gun; Steven tensed for death. “No, sir. Out of water.”

        “It’s delicious!” Hank coughed, slapping Steven’s back, sending him into the wall.

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_{Photo by Samuel Quek on Unsplash}