Aidan and the

Aidan walked into the wood, wielding only his trusty axe and a thermos of coffee and whiskey. He made sure to step on each of the individual crusty brown leaves lying on the forest floor. He was thinking about his cabin, deeply secluded in the mountain several miles away. He couldn't quite remember if he had covered his logs with the tarp. He wondered if his dog, Bruce Springsteen, was still howling at the oven.

"Fucking dogs," Aidan thought.

If only he didn't have to travel this far everyday. If only Montana hadn't recently passed the Land Protection Act, Aidan wouldn't have to travel several miles by foot every day to avoid cutting down trees in an "environmental preservation zone."

"Fucking treehuggers," Aidan thought.

He finally stopped next to a tall tree with ripe red leaves. He looked up, savoring the view of the sun shining through the beautiful red leaves. For a moment, Aidan remembered. He remembered climbing in these trees as a youngster. Sharing a picnic with his family in this very spot. For a moment, Aidan was not Aidan the lumberjack, but Aidan the human being.

He then swung his axe into the tree until it fell heavily to the ground.

"Fucking nature," Aidan thought.