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Day: October 30, 2018
- October 30, 2018
People curled along the side of Florida State Prison like an amoeba. Children plucked dandelions and crabgrass from the brush, singing, “Fryday! Fryday!” until the elders of the group told them to sit down and shut up. Young women
- October 30, 2018
That deluge of haze just before sundown. Spring shakes Winter’s hand goodbye. Now the day has truly gone. Street lamps glow a sodium pink When blue milk pacifies, the copper moon sliding up a sleeve of glass, her luminous
- October 30, 2018
When it was over, Richard Rackham took three careful steps away, sat on the closed toilet seat, and removed his socks. Remarkably, they were unsoiled, save for one fleck of red. It was fortunate that he’d happened to leave
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