This is the straw in the drink. There were once seven in a car on a drive along unkempt roads through the towns of north Mexico. The car blew a tire and spun out of control enough that the year disappeared. The old man yelled a little at his brother at the wheel and a little girl was counting crumbs on the floor under the seats. The sun disappeared below the horizon. Lights on cars were shining through dirt and cast the shadows of all the rocks and holes in the road out like they were people crouching in the night with something to say.

The night howler bitch next door took a break from barking at useless things. She goes on and on about the noises which she does not trust. With a thumb hooked over his elastic band, he stands at the toilet with a half asleep gaze thinking, “Doesn’t she realize piss splashes on the folded towels in the basket there.” He tries to walk to bed but passes it to turn on the television.

His woman sleeps and the bitch next door begins her howl. He sits in a glow without realizing how he got there, how he disappeared.


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