Your foot first descends like a butterfly in the desert. You want to be sand.
Thin trees rise from the thick texture of the saw palmettos’ sharp green leaves.
The board had already been arranged. The pieces were circular stones, standing in formation atop a wooden battlefield.
So trite, my boss, balding, puts his hands on my shoulder while I am processing words instead of word processing.
The lantern my wife believes I’ve returned is still sitting in my shotgun seat. As we leave for church, she opens the door and finds it sitting in her spot, lacking the courtesy to move an inch.
It was a typical winter afternoon at Odessa City Beach, damp and chilly. The sky was low, flat, and grey.
