get your mind off winter time

you ain't goin' nowhere

spectra

little lazarus by michael bible

black sun: the brief transit and violent eclipse of harry crosby

“Is this a Spanish station?” The old man said with his eyes closed.

Let the bodies hit the floor played loudly in the empty barber shop. Through the crackling speaker. It angrily filled the room, the drowning pool.

The small Guatemalan woman cut the old farmer’s hair. Brilliant white falling to the dirty floor slowly like heavy snow.

“I didn’t know you listen to headbanger music” he opened his bright blue eyes.

“I don’t even know what’s going on today” she said “it makes me feel mean, and bad” she said with cracked smile.

The snow kept falling.

Filling up the pool.

“One time I went to a concert like this. I don’t even know rock music. I went dressed for a regular concert, but everyone showed up and they were all dressed in black”

The phone rang, the past calling.

Ring.

She didn’t pick it up.

“Goth” the farmer said. “They call it goth. With the hair spiked up”

“Then they just started pushing each other”

“They call it a mosh pit, a gothic mosh pit” the old man laughed his plaid up and down.

She continued to cut. She looked down and her tiny feet were covered with white. The floor was covered. She was up to her ankles in white farmer hair.

“I don’t even know what’s going on today” a droplet of blood fell from her finger.