by Barry Basden
Everything's drab in the Heights except for little kids running around in neon colors, memorizing hidey holes, learning to count greasy bills - 4th generation delivery boys. Across from the tagged junkyard, traffic rolls in, rolls out of the jets. Radio crackles, sirens, blank-eyed stares. Nobody knows nothin. The kid in a red Bulls jacket flashes a grin. "You ever shoot a robber?" he asks.
Barry Basden lives in the Texas hill country with his wife and two yellow Labs. He edits Camroc Press Review and doesn't care much for semicolons.