5/24

A white van sailed through an ocean of desert dust. It slid through the eternal alleyway of Joshua trees. My Hawaiian sarong was flying in the wind from its anchor on cactus fingers. I forget it four days ago.

On the road back, Bill stopped the van quickly. A red snake lay sprawled across four feet of dust. "Those suckers bite like a motherfucker," he said. He opened the door and walked around the red racer in slow circles, the white childish grin in his mouth. The snake was not as pleased and began coiling into symbols of pain. Bill cornered its escape, and instantly broke into a swift jig, laughing as the spearhead lashed at his ankles. He stepped away as it lunged a last time, through the brushes and away. He walked back into the van and drove us home, picking up the conversation where it was dropped.