Just Over the Border
Too close for comfort
glares into my flared
nostrils. This is no
snuggler. “A glass of
milk has never sounded
sweeter.” Awakened from
the nightmare to the four
degenerates who’ve walked
in to the diner, Fluffy’s ini
tial reaction is to spray
Windex in their eyes,
all eight of them. She
wonders why she wants
to make this dinner into
a funeral. And then she
remembers the nightmare
she’d been stuck in for
months, maybe years,
no end in sight. All
four are men, they’re
playing rough jacks.
She gazes out the
window into the
desert, disallows
a look at what’s
cooking on the
inside, but snaps
to when she hears
“Hey, Fat Ass!
Where’s supper?!”
She pretends to
open her eyes,
fakes a scoot
alongside the
counter to the
mud-colored
coffee-pot,
aims not
to ever
reach
an arm
out to
pick it
up...
