The rumbling of individual tractors combines to form a soft roar that underlies all other sounds in what one friend referred to as the armpit of the universe, while freight trains punctuate the undercurrent, heralding their arrival with triumphant bursts of white hot noise; three head lights form a triangle of dots that signify an unmistakable "therefore", though what follows the conjunctive adverb is beyond my comprehension, along with just about everything else out here; and I'm back in the hot marsh stew alongside adults turned children in a bathtub full of stars.

There's no escape, and bit by bit, my sanity drifts away alongside crystal meth vapors beneath his grim black jaw. I almost blacked out when I saw her pinched on either side by over-exposure. Fuck, I said, and they demanded to know why, but if I told them the truth they'd realize just how far adrift I am.

Distance. There's no escape, no rest, no separation. Church on Sunday and cabaret all day monday. Ain't nobody's business if I do.