A Day In Mulletville

Lee yawned and stretched, a half-nude welcome to the morning. His right hand reached over the couch and accidentally hit the lamp - the one missing the shade - knocking it onto the dog bed. Luckily Booger was begging for Spam in the kitchen and missed getting nailed in the noggin with porcelain.
   "You up, baby?" Lee's old lady called from beside the stove as she lit her first cigarette of the morning from the blue propane flame.
   Lee took a moment to admire her curves inside the tube top, and the way her tattoos made it seem like her arm was constantly moving, even when it wasn't.
   "Gettin' there, sweet thing," Lee mumbled, his voice hoarse from cigarettes and SoCo. The trailer's living room spun in front of him as he labored to his feet, and for the thirtieth time in as many mornings Lee swore he'd need to toss the bottle aside.
   He chuckled to himself. There was no way. He liked the buzz too much to give it up. Things were just going to have to work themselves out.
   Lee kicked his way through the pizza boxes and still-rubber-banded newspapers waiting to have their coupons clipped, and shoved his way past the aluminum ducting and copper wire he'd stolen from those abandoned houses, the ones with actual foundations. He'd need to get that stuff to the scrap yard, sooner rather than later if Lisa had her way.
   Ah... maybe tomorrow.
   Lee flicked the bathroom light switch halfway up, so it just caught but didn't go so far that it sparked, and the bare bulb over the mirror flickered to life. He ran a hand across his chin, where two days' worth of beard took attention away from his puffy, bloodshot eyes. He reached for his toothbrush then remembered that Lisa had commandeered it to clean the little holes ringing her Franklin Mint collectible NASCAR plates. She paid special attention to Jeff Gordon's plate, which caused an argument, but they'd made up with lovin' so loud and enthusiastic it woke the retired couple next door. Lee was proud of that.
   Almost as proud as he was of his Trans-Am. And almost as proud as he was of his haircut. He ran a hand from the front, over the top, then down the back. Short, short, long. Classic mullet. Business in the front, party in the back.
   "Spam's on, baby," Lisa called from the kitchen. Lee heard the 'whoof' of the propane stove going off, but he took another moment with the brush. He hadn't cut the sleeves off his Nazareth t-shirt so his hair could look bad.
   "You gonna look for a job today?" Lisa called out.
   Lee shot himself both barrels of his finger pistols in the mirror, just like Isaac from the Love Boat. Lookin' good. Real good. Maybe get-a-job good.
   "We'll see, sweet thing. We'll see."