Faded Houses Green

Clinging to the twig of apathy, I met her behind the gas station as she had intimated, instigated, and acclimated.

The field was sparse, the spruce was blue, and the blue cow rolled to the bottom of the hill in front of the car wash for sale these past three years. Buck’s T4 had graduated to T6 by the time the story was relayed back to the town of Rigby with might and main hoist over the casting of West Side Story these past three years. The car found in the river two days later did nothing to quell the qualms of the seven quaking aspen along the banks where the blue cow fell into the river–not baptized as reports had later claimed.

I met her behind the gas station as she had intimated, but the twig snapped and she laughed the life fandango, these past three years.