The shade creeps away from the sleeping dogs and the dogs leap after, running with their heads down to duck the heat. The heat advances on the shade and occupies the streets and the parking lots, the empty plaza, heating the bronze commander to a high white glare. America Vicuña hangs by her neck in the permanent shade of the carriage house behind the banana warehouse where no one has found her. What was the matter? Betrayal and neglect, getting Xed in love. Also having that kind of teen-spirit where everything means so much more than your adult self would have any patience for… In any case somebody poisoned the cream. But taking a cold Coca-Cola in the breezy cool of the sleepy bodega you would never know it. A strange dumb fate for you to be so benighted. How many bodies will be stashed elsewhere that you’ll wish not to know about?
Front page image by Jason Means.