Back To The Trailer Park
August 10, 2011 § 6 Comments
Her back pressed against the concrete barrier, Pearl heard the troll-like rumbling of the cars going by. She smelled smoke and fumes and shit and other human olfactory run off. Regardless, she wouldn’t move. Her cup was the fullest after a day here. And she didn’t have to dance.
“Yea, here you go.”
“Thanks, bless you.” She pulled out her Bic and lit the charity Camel filter.
The sun went down; a huge truck had its red hood open, snobby nose. No, the sun hadn’t gone down. The sky had filled with clouds. And the truck was belching. Yes, the sun was going down, but not quite down, but who would know the sky was so pregnant with clouds, blue a mockingbird, blue a mock mock mock.
Clink in her cup.
“Thanks.” Mmm money was distracting. She would buy bread and a pint, maybe even a pack of smokes. Smoke smoke everywhere but nothing left to inhale.
Now the night was claiming broke, begging for money from the noble stars, the wealthy moon, the filthy rich winds of left and right. Foot traffic was waning. Almost quitting time, soon she would hear the siren, the Flintstone quitting time whistle installed in her head. Slowing to a spit, people rainstorm spun itself out, their own whistles, yes they must have whistles, and how else do they know to go home.
Pearl decided to head to the store and make her way across the air walk over the highway, hidden by weeds, hidden by random real plants eaten by weeds, cannibals, weeds have a bad reputation, bad thrived, just like in the people world, just like in the real world, the bad grow and increase and prosper and the good languish and long to be watered.
Sick of smelling tires.
Back to the trailer park.