The gorgeous men were being measured for wedding tuxedos. The children busied themselves with leftover board game misfits. In and out of the grown up's world. Taking turns inventing the game rules, parenting each other, hiding in imagination land. "They seem more like thugs!" One declared.
"Gorillas in fancy clothes," another remarked of the men.
"HEY! GET ME A SODA."
The body had big holes in it.
The men who'd gotten pinned down at workplaces and the Milk Barn considered it. At first there wasn't much commenting which is what talking about a dead body really is -- commenting.
"Oh finally! A (i)real(i) journalist."
"It was a cadaver."
"Why are you so out of breath?"
The woman lit a cigarette. "Trains are down again. I walked from Oyster Bay."
A taller kid stepped from behind a trench coat covered ladder. "Din't know there was a train from such a place (i)mother(i)."
"Palease, that was two weeks ago! Look at all these othah bodies we found since then," the punk girl put down the paintbrush and headed towards the garage.
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