Austin
1
The girls went out that night, having nowhere else to go. They never had anywhere to go. Stuck in place, begging to get out of their mobile home; Betty was left behind. 6th St walkers blow in breezy night air off the river. Searching, scanning bars for that one man who could take them home, take them in for just this night, and wash them in acid. They found him rolling on cots from side to side; his scent a coppered drum beating in the room while Indigenous peoples of Mexico circled road, crying out in pain. The agony a turn on for the night, he solicited the use.
Afterwards the trail built up sticky, filth lined the walls, jettisoned out Scarbrough’s Truths: Betty was left behind.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment