of dirt roads. Puffs of dust in a smear of sun and soil.
Sparse talking. Budgeting drinks-for-the-day parched.
An amphitheatre of parking.
"Wait here."
A little photograph pulled from a vest with many pockets. A gruff pull on a shirt collar. "You claim this man is a friend of yours?" A suddenly worried nod.
A knock on the paper thin door. It creaked open. People having tea. "Excuse us, have you seen this man or this woman?" Photographs food stained and crease-crumpled. "I gave them the visitor's pass (i)on lunch(i)."
A horn blaring.
"I just meant to beep it. It won't stop."
"LOOK!"
People creeping low, then stopping in place.
"GET THEM I'M SICK OF THIS,"someone hollered and spit out teeth.
The getting away made it to partially buried vehicles, dune buggies.
A careful chase.
Twinkies hitting the windshield.
"We're gaining on them!"
"Give me the megaphone! And turn it on this time."
Man driving glanced past woman passenger. Hit the pedal.
"Watch it!!!!!!"
A hastily written letter:
It wasn't your fault. Ours got squashed between humanitarian out and us coming in. We got T-boned by the Syrians with chemical weapons. We miss you.
Put with other mail.
Catapulted.
No comments:
Post a Comment