The sky we had never made no clouds, bitch.
CLOUD HUNTING BY MICHAEL LEE PHILLIPS 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 51
Clouds? The sky we had never made no clouds, bitch. Moisture trying to float our way ended up in yard sales, Dried-out lumps looking like white dog turds. Woman was all smiles trying to make a dime off us Saying, Hell yes, these here, they still got rain in them.
You’re not here, she said.
PAIN IN HAWAII BY REBECCA GEARHART 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 51
The woman behind the front desk checked her book for my name. “You’re not here,” she said. “Bullshit! I made the reservation two weeks ago, on the telephone.” She pulled out a photocopy of a hand-drawn map from a drawer in the desk. “Other Paradise Inn,” she said. There were about a dozen of them.