many hats, not all at the same time. No Bartholomew was he. Every day a new one, sometimes two. His ears may ache, and his hair hurt, but the pattern continues. Always his head is covered. Even while asleep.
Day: March 25, 2020
She drops the newspaper on the table, announcing, “They’re still killing people in Syria, you know. They say it’s over, but it’s not. Anyone can see that. It’s not.”
Nothing to do in this stupid town but hang out at the mall. We buy pretzels and talk about school shootings, try on earrings, poking them in and everything. Which you’re not supposed to
Stray conversations lingered in the air. Dull grey smoke drifted on the passing breeze peppering olfactory nerves with burnt meats and dwelling vegetables far beyond ripe. The sun, stood high in the clear blue