A. R. Rogers
Poet. Fiction writer. East Austinite. Drinker of whiskey. Chronic time-waster.
Ghost Town
Everything has gone wrong. I returned to the place I went to love you so many times, I accidentally made it inhabitable and created a people. They mated, like people do, became a sort of sophisticated, but continued to communicate in barbaric fashion— through guttural cries, the sound of molar on molar, by pushing and pulling air through their perfect white teeth. I was disappointed in them. How could the people reject language in light of my design?A. R. Rogers1 min read