So it goes for another Monday. Three buses, a trolley and a train.
All that work, that devotion to a ritual, and you die of a heart attack in Rome.
The pickup truck with the ANYONE BUT GORDON sticker pulls up in front of the cold apartment building as day breaks. Inside the cab, coffee and cigarettes are already going. The man comes out and gets into the car.
“You bring gloves?” The driver asks.
The man puts his hands up as proof. These men have a skill set you can’t acquire in an online class at your local community college.
If everything goes right, no one will get hurt. You hope no one gets hurt.
Across the country, in the still-dark sky of the Southwest, work continues on another cross-border tunnel for the coyotes
. Nacio Guzman smokes in the dry coldness of the winter morning. Six more months of this shit, he thinks, watching the perros
attack the earth.
Someday the sun will come for Nacio.
Several people wake with hangovers in the Belgian city of Leuven, mostly students and those who get to sleep with them. Many, many Stellas last night. Ein, twi …
Solitary men with firearms watch the highways, triggers poised, self-aggrandizement run amok.
Another day, we move on.