maybe if you drive 300 miles away, the air will be easier to breathe. maybe the sun will burn away the bad and the water there will wash it away. maybe the liquor tastes better, maybe the anger gets lost on the road, blown out the window, sinking to the bottom of the everglades.
a little girl was splashing at my feet, maybe six years old and beautiful. “momma, is that a magic lady?” she asked when I walked by. I turned to her and it was written on my face, locked in my eyes, seeping though my skin, “I’m fucking magic, baby, don’t you worry.”