its golden hour
maybefingers
crossed someone shot him as he walked across the field past
razedtoppled trees land choppedup into lots some foundations excavated or maybe
an interior
Mariachi bandit recording
him to cut him intoedit him into dreams memories shooting black an white or cinemascope
he was angered
he had argued strenuously before the City
Council against selling off the green parcelsarguing they ought to be
maintainedEVERYTHINGeverything
didnt have to be about chasing the almighty buck
without greenways yards their community
would eventually collapse into sterile urban monotony
standing at the edge of a trench
some threefourfeet deep he glanced a glittering in the crumbledearth rock shale reflecting shards of sunlight whichnot ten minutes later he would never have
seen
he jumped down into it
toed away the collapsedearth
a flask
bending to pick it up not a few feet away more glittering another flask then another another strung out in the same cease not
thirty metres apart
then the sunlighting was gone the
sky darkening quickly
he put the flasks in his jacket
pockets climbed out of the cut and walked home
all four were filled
with blood
a little diabolical
macabre
as dinner was going he poured
himself refrigerated Ouzo wanted something
as viscousabsent colour to mirror the blood
he could be macabre
too
in the morning hed take the flasks
to the police lead them to the ditch
he hoped once they were no longer
evidence they would return them to him so he could rinse them out and use
they were handsome flasks
friends heard that and freaked
he decided he
wouldnt tell them the steak knives they used at dinner were once murder weapons
how could he not they were
superior Japanese cutlery Lotus Damascus
steel Sapele wood handles
it
often used for guitar necks
he wouldnt say
theyd be offended at a minimum
0746, Monday,
29 8. 22
1057, Thursday,
1 9. 22
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