“Cooors!” I pass him a Coors. Swaying in the high seat at eight in the morning, I’m eye-first into the binoculars, surveying. No bacon, not even Canadian. There’s a cactus or two, endless droves of barbwire and a family of brown rabbits in back-brush, trembling. Sunrise was about two hours ago, and our burgers are starting to get cold.
“Cooooors!” Number 10, and his head rocks with the wind. Mayonnaise on my mind; there’s enough mayo on our burgers to murmur a steel elephant heart. It’s still not enough. The rabbits are crouched low now; Rodney, now watching through his scope, pulls back and finishes his beer. “Bacon better show soon, or we’re gonna be putting rabbit on these burgers,” he says, and I can almost smell the applewood rolling dense over the empty plains, ahead.