Cocktail Magic

How the day runs like a starving fire over dried pine needles.   There isn’t much there, but it will take what there is and it will burn it through, burn it black and useless.
This is a day of the dead.  A day of the sacrifice gutted and thrown on the slab for an indifferent deity.  What horror.  What numbness.
The season is turning cold, it does feel like a risk to compile language when the goal should be to defend the fleeing heat of my body.
My phone is buzzing with an Amber Alert centered 90 minutes from here. A Corolla and a story I have yet to hear.
Tomorrow we carve minutes out of the clock and store them away.
2 days in a row with zero extraneous food purchases.
Tomorrow I tell you of the brow wax.  And tomorrow I tell myself to shape up.

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