Arizona Coast

by | Apr 9, 2024 | Fiction, Issue Thirty-Eight

Today I will be laid to waste in the unadulterated sunshine of the Arizona coast. Here I will remain, red as a cardinal. I am as purple as a peony. Pricked by syringes haphazardly discarded like spent magic wands. Tickled by tumbleweeds which bob in the hot wind like severed heads in the nearby water. Pinched by innumerable shards of green and brown glass that make up the granules of sand on this empty beach. All my friends will arrive, their skin also leathered by the sun: the woman named Star, the guy with the wooden leg and a scar on his lip, and, unfortunately, the other guy with the freshly stolen bike, the mean one who is painted all over with faded zebra-stripe gum wrapper tattoos. We’ll surf the city arroyos until the concrete waves grow too large and come crashing down on us, flattening us like pancakes, increasing our surface area so our insides will cook a little easier on these fine infernal summer days. Our story told like countless others, living on forever in the tattered cookbook of time.

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