Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Promises you can't keep

She drove a '92 Chevrolet, dark green. It was as beat up as she was. It whined like a squeaky rat every time she started it. When the rain soaked the sidewalks and the streets ran like mascara tears, she would say that the soil soaked up everything--the toxins and pollutants. When the rain came, it didn't matter if it was bad; the soil let it in anyway. She said she was too dry for that now, too hard and compact. She said her cracks showed like wrinkles.

3 comments:

  1. so horribly picturesque and made of grit and the darker clouds. you are a delight.

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  2. You're very talented :)
    I'd love to follow your blog, but I can't find the follow button :S

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