Sylviana Rivera wiggled and wobbled to pick up the brick. In runway-ready stiletto heels and charcoal-lined eyelids dripping with sweat. Her honey-brown eyes reflected the smoke and flames of the cop car burning in front of her. A few feet away, a protestor graffitied in pink and sky blue hissing spray paint—“FUCK ICE”—over the side-doors of a white/green border patrol F150.
It seemed odd to Christy that there would be a place to pick up ashes in between a Marshalls and a Michaels, but she supposed that’s what you get for a whopping $675 bucks; it was the cheapest option she could find. She had tuition to pay, and burning a body hadn’t been in her budget for the semester.”
It’s winter in Yonkers. My mother has taken me to visit a man who isn’t my father. He looks just like a Latino Freddie Mercury with his leather jacket and greased mustache.
Every time Alma sucked in air through
clenched teeth, she wondered if the streets of New York smelled like the trees she and her father slept under every night.
I will arrive in Laredo by stagecoach. & when I arrive, I’ll have to rent a horse because there’s no longer cars. Peak oil, come & gone.
Tyon, Texas is ninety minutes southwest of Austin. You take the highway for about half the trip, and the rest is through backroads and farm-to-markets. The roads are lined with cows, horses, and some goats, and at nighttime the only substantial source of light is the odd oil refinery a mile or so off the road. For this reason, it’s suggested that travelers either stay the night or plan to get into town early enough to enjoy all that it has to offer and leave before it gets dark.
