I glare at the construction crews. I search for where they’ve hidden the dynamite. They don’t know that I’m in the warehouse. I keep myself hidden. I’d like to sneak in and light it off, watch the fireworks. I imagine Rowan watching, too, knowing that it’s me.
(fiction)
Tag: the artists prison
“Clove Hitch”
“Elegy for a Moth”
“Green Mountain Coffee”
“Helios”
“Wood Board”