The Trip


Having nowhere else to go, the girls went out.  Too long stuck in place, begging to escape this mobile home they’d created for themselves… she’d created for them to live together; a family of three suffocating nights with smoke and liquor so they could not breathe.  Betty was left behind.
6th St walkers blow in breezy night air off the river.  Searching, scanning bars for that one man who could take them home, take them in for just this night, and wash them in acid.  They found him rolling on a cot from side to side; his scent a coppered drum beating in the room while Indigenous peoples of Mexico circled road, crying out in pain.  The agony a turn on for the night, he solicited the use.
Afterwards the trail built up sticky, filth lined the walls, jettisoned out Scarbrough’s Truths: Betty was left behind.


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