, , ,

a troubled boy picks at a flyer

and then copies down the

number that is handwritten on

several notes.  But nobody

“fuckin'” cares what the ink

feels like on

his hands and the way that

he’s smudged his face.

‘The numbers add up to

gun violence and the fragments

of a woman’s memory when she was

a child.  She didn’t escape from

her desert land, but she

did win a big literary prize when

her skull was pulled from

the sand and mortar.’