Shit’s on fire.
Big puddle even though it didn’t rain.
Selling sandwich bags full of cut grass. 35 cents each. I bought two. Immediately regretted it.
None of the stuffed animals are priced. Lady in the first house got her curlers set up on a table. “THESE AREN’T FOR SALE!”
Everybody’s in sweatpants.
The second garage’s interior covered in Air Force posters. F-16s flying in formation, Apache gunship cockpit shot with double pilot thumbs up.
66 year-old man sits without blinking behind folding table made from old door. Stacked in front of him are multiple six packs of Orange Pop. “Best offer,” he mumbles. I stab him in the arm.
Through the picture window are 8 kids, glass-eyed, white-skinned, piled on the couch watching Latino Family Feud.
“Do you have any paintings of tug boats?” I ask.
In the backyard a dog is burned.