Wounded Little Souls

I almost lost me arm for me country honey I’m home and me country better hook me up with job.

How I love the frisky colours of propaganda posters.

Photocopying takes time -- the petty sense of accomplishment derived from the medicinal smell of heated toner.

A careless mother leaves her stroller with baby inside parked outside a dollar store, and although that’s usually okay, this time the storefront displays Halloween promotions that feature veiny and prickly-skinned plastic masks like freshly flayed facial cadavers with bulging eyeballs, terrorizing the poor baby’s untainted eyes. He panicks. How I want to approach the stroller and sweep close the eyes of a still-carefree child.