Whenever I would get nervous, mother would turn and tell me, “There’s no cow on the
ice, it’s okay.” Well, now there were several. I need to get away. I mean, I won’t have to run. Maybe I will. I don’t know. I know I need two more days. I need to carry my bag of burdens out the door, find a car, and live a life. Maybe a motorcycle. I don’t know. I know he said nothing would happen to us, but nothing happened to Bonnie and Clyde either. Maybe something did. I don’t know. I hid it under my bed like a child whose mother could sharpen an ax over his head. I stuck it in a treasure chest. I mean, that’s where things like that belong anyway. He won’t find it, no one I know could dig through the grave buried below my bed of roses, and find it.. Or the treasure. Maybe they could. I don’t know. I’ll wait till they sleep, and climb out the window. I mean, jump out the window? I don’t know. No, too high. I’m too high.
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HOWLER LIT 