Waiting for the Storm

Drowning in throat coating dust dragging deep dry breathes thick through burning nose down into dry lashed lungs on arid August afternoons with lawn long gone brown the sandy soil scorched naked wind whipping up small dust devils plastering particles of sand to sweat soak on skin exposed to reddening low slung searing sun and […]

Dead Heat — Part 1 of ?

It was hot outside that week. The dog days of August, they call it – yeah, seems about right. The air carried the kind of hot that plasters you to your sheets as you lie in bed struggling to sleep – even breathing makes you sweat. The air smelled stale, sick and sweet — like rotting compost, swamp water, and damp forest. The fan on my dresser, pointed directly at me, didn’t help. It only, momentarily, helped me catch my breath.