The ragged, scrawny man dressed in a stained tank top and jeans gave Micheal a suspicious look, standing in the doorway of his old trailer that served as his home.
Inhaling his cigarette deeply, the man blew the smoke into his face nonchalantly, reminding him that he was afraid of no one, even if they were more than a hundred pounds heavier and a head taller than him. Yup, that was the Billy Micheal knew.
His personality hadn't changed one bit, though he had grown older and meaner looking over these past four years.
"What the hell do you want?" he asked with a raspy voice.
It was no surprise to him that Billy didn't recognize him; the last time his stick-thin friend saw him, Micheal was overweight, supporting a large beer-belly, but he was heavily muscled and clean-shaven. Now he was close to 330 pounds, his XL black shirt unable to completely cover his pot-belly.
His beard had grown out thick and unkempt, and his limbs that ones bulged with muscle was now padded with excess flesh. Yes, prison life was hard, but at least the food wasn't horrible.
"It's me, Billy," Micheal said, "Don't you recognize me?"
Billy's eyes widened with surprise, nearly dropping his cigarette. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed in shock, "Micheal, is that you, buddy. You've gotten fat."
"Yeah, four years in prison can change a man," Micheal said, walking in as Billy stepped aside.
The inside of the trailer was untidy: clothes and beer cans lay strewn across the floor, the sink was piling with dishes, and there was the heavy smell of alcohol and diesel that floated around. Micheal could clearly see that his friend hadn't learn any housekeeping after four years.
"Yeah, but usually it's suppose to toughen up a guy, not turn him into a fat-ass!" Billy pointed out. "Usually I'm not a guy to give a dam about health, but you seriously need to lose weight, man."
He was right, but Micheal chose to ignore what he said. "So, where do I sleep?" he asked.
"On the lower one," answered Billy. "Normally it's too hot for me to sleep up top, but I'll prefer that than have you fall on me and crush me in my sleep."
"Shut up, Billy," said Micheal, growing annoyed with his friend's remarks, throwing his sports bag on the bed, "I haven't gotten that fat."
"I beg to differ," Billy said, folding his arms.
All this talk about his weight was beginning to make Micheal feel uncomfortable, so he decided to change the subject. "Do you think Jack's sawmill would still hire guys like me?" he asked, "I heard it's still going after all these years."
Billy shrugged. "I guess so," he said, "Jack's always willing to hire guys, even if they got a record, but his pays crap. You're better off breaking into homes and stealing cars."
Micheal shook his head roughly, taking a seat on Billy's beat-up sofa. "No, man, I can't," he said, "I'm on parole. If they catch me doing something bad again, they would lock me up immediately. Besides, I'm turning over a new leaf anyway."
Billy rolled his eyes, as if to say that he had faith in his friend but highly doubt his success. "Well, good luck with that," he said. "So, when do you want to start?"
"A little while from now," said Micheal, "There's someone I need to visit first."
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