Tuesday, April 4, 2017


From the work in progress...

The cops were still tarnishing Derek's mellow.  Orlando sat in the cop car driver seat, typing onto the laptop mounted on a dashboard swivel. Atlas and Welsh were conferring on the lawn, standing where the porch light failed and shadows reclaimed property. Atlas was an unrepentant throat clearer.  It sounded like a sprinkler on a hay field trying to blast water past a blockage of some sort in the line, likely a once inquisitive now mummified rodent.   

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