Elegy 1920 1272 Howie Good

I’m regularly being interrupted – called to the phone, sent out on a diaper run, shot with water from a garden hose, accosted by street people. It’s been that way since you went in for routine surgery and never came out. And yet despite the fog and corpse flies, despite the police officers who like to use their nightsticks, September is still summer, and there’s nothing wrong with that, just someplace that’s got a pool table and a jukebox, where old bandits and pirates carouse until closing as a one-eyed yellow cat curls up asleep in the corner and keeps indifferent watch.

Header photograph © Christine Owens.

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