86
86
Miami, December 1 st
Lukewarm morning air slaps you like a half-cooked, half-frozen burrito. It’ ll rain by midday you see it in the clouds
Your $ 20 microwave gargles as you start a decadent beef chimichanga spin-cooking.
Jimmy Dean fingers punch in two thirty-four. For luck.
– – –
The thick drops of rain are warm, calming, everywhere. Free. The water in your shower screeches from the faucet. Cold, choked you pay for every drop.
This rundown motel is falling apart; rats outnumber tenants the orange shag carpet reminds you: a Woodie in 1972. You remember living in that car. Now you live here. Do you own this motel?
Fletcher Hagedorn