mountain blend

Dad followed them inside, but instantly stepped back out.  “Damn girls, you got a cat in there?” he said.  I heard the closing of a door and peeked inside.   Strewn across the floor were a couple of sleeping bags, flattened beer cans and a rain soaked phonebook lying face down in a corner.  The only piece of furniture was a cushion-less sofa covered with a bed sheet.  In front of the sofa, acting as a table, was a large speaker-case.  On top of it were a spoon, a box of generic Sudafed and a hot plate.  Sitting on the hot plate was a Folger’s coffee can.  Mountain Blend.  The place didn’t smell like cat as much as it did unflushed pee.  “This is what your sister ran away to?” Dad asked me.