In the quiet of the morning, the ticking clock will resonate through the halls. The parts of him that were human have shrugged off his shoulders. They were quilted into a coat, too loose for his lack of. The sun rises over the roof tops. The birds begin to chirp. The wind picks up. The first car of the day makes it way pass the house, a house boarded up. Secluded.
Hell Was Just a Lone Pit in the Desert
Sonora, dressed in red, spins on the dance floor. Her suitor, dressed in black, spins and spins her, causing her dismay. Her torture. She collapses. He vanishes.
Thirteen years later, he returns. Unaged. Quite aware of his misdeeds.
Gospel
Smoke three more cigarettes before going back in. If doesn’t come, she tells herself, I’m leaving him for something better. Meanwhile, deep in the bowels of the city, a dead girl comes back.
And the Floor Creaks with every Step
He watches them, their daily routines. The world is such an ugly place, he thinks. Maybe it’s time to bring something beautiful into it.
Chapin City Blues 