The paper-skin woman was begging at the corner, or was she asking? Perhaps it was as simple as hope. How many in the cars
We sat on our knees in front of the TV, stuffing our mouths with pumpkin pie as the British narrator interviewed bugged out mountain
Artful decoy at the curb, working its spell from forty feet— a straight-line pull across the pavement, gait steadied by stony resignation, eyes forward.