crackle called all of her friends. two didn’t answer, one’s number was disconnected and skink hung up on her. crackle hazily remembered the fight - in the alley behind the hole in the wall a week before - that ended with her throwing a shopping cart at skink, but she assumed that was water under the bridge. oh well. she looked at her porn for a while, got off, read the weekly rag and stared at the wall. “this sucks,” crackle said. she opened the door of her efficiency. the flourescent light over her door twitched and buzzed. flesh colored geckos skittered around it. crackle picked her nose. it was still hot out at 3am. it would be hot for another two months. “god i’d love to do some drugs,” she said. crackle put on her boots.
crackle walked through her neighborhood in the dark. she said hi to the cats who had been left outside. she watched a fat racoon crawl into the storm sewer as she tromped by. “sewer racoon versus sewer possum,” she said, “who would win?” she walked past the state cemetary and the closed beer joint. she walked through the chichi yuppie neighborhood with its restored clapboard houses and inhabitants who liked to think of themselves as ‘creatives’. she walked through the university neighborhood and laughed at a couple of kids throwing up behind a dumpster. she walked through the campus and got hassled by the twinkie security cops. she walked through the state capital grounds and stepped over the fence to traipse through the off-limits rose garden. she walked down congress, the only person on the street. she got to the river and stood on the bridge, watching the water move underneath, streetlights reflecting their orange
sulpher glow. she was the only one alive. the sky was starting to pale. she found her way under the bridge and watched the bats slowly return to their home, as the sky became pink and the city woke up.