I WENT TO JAKE
THE BUTCHER?
The phone rang and it wasn't you,
but the sound resembled my memory
too. Nodding, I asked the reason for
the call. A man named Lance was
washing his car and the girl name
Carlita hung wash.
-
Stepping outside, I realized the
village - every pulsing of blood in
each character there, living their
lives of steady intent. The wind
blew the clothes as they dried.
-
Small houses, almost like Dutch
huts, ran up the slow hillside. Dogs,
and a duck, seemed incongruous but
making the scene nonetheless.
-
My plans called for nothing at all.
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