by Hosho McCreesh
Been raining three days straight here in the desert and I ain't never seen anything like it. "Monsoon season," they say, and the air's so heavy that the pages in old books curl, the plaster sweats, and the doors are all swoll-up in their jambs. Watching it rain I had this crazy dream that, just for a few days, them doors would stay shut and the whole world would just stop. No one would bother with work and, instead, they'd just stay home, talk, laugh, get drunk listenin' to news reports, or old Ledbelly records while starin' out the window as the rain come runnin' down. They'd stay up real late just gettin' to know each other again, remember why they loved all the people they loved, and they'd sleep peacefully to the low grumble of thunder with the windows cranked open a hair. I know, I know... it'd never work.
Hosho McCreesh loves writing with a drawl. He's currently alive, working, writing, and painting in the Gypsum & Caliche Badlands of the American Southwest. Portions of his work are available from Bottle of Smoke Press, sunnyoutside press, and 10pt Press.