ISSUE: Spring 2012
Who can tell if he’s a sprite. “Spare anything green.” This is the last of Sheila, but
I give it over.
Somebody called the hatchet man that night. I got to beat him off with a
willow branch.
They’re rounding up the most suspicious-looking people. The crummy crackers.
Hadn’t been that long I picked up a voodoo candle. Hadn’t been that long took
somebody’s head off.
Random act four: I picked him out of the phone book. He picked me out of the
line-up. Picky, picky.
Never know who’s behind the wheel. Who I look like Charlie Chan? Not that little
tramp. The other one.
