A long Chrysler with black windows pulls up, on my side, next to us. I look close, it's stuffed with people wearing bandanas, and they all slouch. It rains harder now, thunders. When the light finally turns, they match our speed and I catch a glimpse of the same boy pressing his ass against the window. We ignore them and they fall behind us.
Rain hits the street like oil in a frying pan.
Tree branches are matted with wet, dark leaves. I bought some goofy wigs for Charlie when he lost his hair. I snuck him dark beer and red meat, even though we knew it would zonk his stomach. Why don't you blend me with ice cream. A milkshake, and that way I can pass through your system.