Tom was hired to cut the grass. A big man like a skittle, he did the penguin walk when his trousers crutch drooped to his knees. People laughed until they saw his look.
As Harry the grass was cut, he wished it was death he could see in Tom’s eyes.
The boy stood at the Dancehall. It was in darkness, a sort of blessing as he was listening, not distracted by people.
In the dark the coyote howls. Yet with the wind it's like the dead wailing for a ghost highway.
He waits, the woman not he begins the adventure.