Monday, June 13, 2016


One was a grimace of gnarled, stained metal.

Nothing could have survived.

Then a few rows of the less damaged, most with perfect, eight-inch holes in the windshields.  Holes wide enough to fit a cantaloupe through.

Rain trickled down my nose; dripped down to my lips.  I could taste hair gel and salt in the drops.  I couldn’t hear anything but the pitter-patter of rain splashing softly in rusty puddles.

I got my car back, eventually.

I spent six months visiting doctors… another seventeen alone.

She called me once, over the summer.

Her voice purred on my machine, whispered over and over:

“Te amo… te amo… te amo….”

But I know what that’s all about.

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