“I feel like the help wanted flyers that the wind tore from the telephone poles”
She ran next to me but I pedaled on. “What are you saying? Could you slow down?” she
said, huffing.
But I couldn’t. When the wind throws the help wanted flyers through the breeze they
either land on some schmucks face or keep floating, so I just pedaled on my yellow man-powered contraption.
“You can look for another job, I’m sure there’s other ones.”
She ran next to me trying to keep up and barely succeeding.
“Where are you going?” She asked me.
“I’m gonna find the quickest way to the moon and live among all the unemployed men.”
Green blurs turned into brown then to green again as I pedaled faster. Her blue sundress
was a sudden blip in my peripheral vision like a subliminal message in a movie.
“What? What are you saying?” she screamed at me.
The green and brown kaleidoscope blurs mixed and settled to only mix again and
suddenly turn into a stoney grey blob.
“Get back down here, you’re going to kill yourself doing that” she screamed again.
She stayed planted at the hairy toes of the grandfather mountain. But I pedaled on, up
his snowy white beard where I knew he’d lay a trail of stardust and burnt job applications out for me once I reached the top. If I pedaled fast enough I knew I could make it to the moon.
He would even tell her goodbye for me.
HOWLER LIT 