(Navigate to the nearest fried chicken restaurant)
The road doesn't forget it's own
TURN LEFT ON MICHLER DRIVE
The blood of joggers, cyclists, & stray animals sink deep into the ichor asphalt
CONTINUE STRAIGHT ON FLYNN PARKWAY
I knew a Flynn. I remember beautiful pale thighs wrapped in pantyhose under a short black skirt
TURN RIGHT ON MOOREVIEW STREET
the GPS shakes me out of my fuck fantasy as I veer around the corner. There's a jogger shuffling, and a little girl holding a balloon waiting for the cross walk.
SLIGHT LEFT ON BUTLER WAY
Each of these vaguely non-identical houses look out on rainslicked suburban streets, full of spit, blood, & amnesia. A thousand lives and sneakers are around, but Sunday afternoon is desolate.
YOU HAVE ARRIVED.
I guess so.