Francis Jupiter Trautman lives as you do. In a shack out in Plaquemine’s Bayou drinking Old Crow and burying cigar boxes full of children’s teeth at the roots of an old dead oak.
Mind the flies.
...mehr sehenFrancis Jupiter Trautman lives as you do. In a shack out in Plaquemine’s Bayou drinking Old Crow and burying cigar boxes full of children’s teeth at the roots of an old dead oak.
Mind the flies.
But nights, he flies. He sails up above the swamps adrift on wings of whiskey and of soda.
That’s him, now. Perched on the hood of a silver 1975 Buick Apollo. Clinking his size-13 Frye’s against the headlamps with small delight and sucking a Marlboro, as he watches you sleep.
Or not. Whatever.weniger sehen