“You never know.”  Something about the breeze made me optimistic.

He held the creature out to me like an offering.  It had been a long time since I had touched another living thing.  I felt the creature’s heart beating wildly.

I could bring a gun with me back in time, making me a god to be feared.  Religions begin with loving gods, but they always end with the threat of eternal damnation.  What good is salvation if everyone gets it?  With a gun, Kool-Aid, and the lighter, I would make a better god than most.  I handed the bird back to him and he held it against his chest like a child with a small stuffed animal.

The breeze tapped a memory of summer nights catching fireflies in mid-air, feeling the flutter of their wings in my cupped hands, and watching their on/off luminescence through the spaces between my fingers.

Children don’t play in front of The Carlyle or anywhere near it.  It is a street of rundown SROs and reeking Bukowski bars.  The bird was the only color I’d seen in months and even that turned out to be an illusion, light refraction caused by feather structure, I later read.  I never paid attention to science growing up, too busy working angles, trying to get by without getting done.

Smooth Boy placed the bird on a low branch of the dead honey locust tree.

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)