Roadkill by James Claffey

Roadkill by James Claffey

Fiction, Vol. 7.1, March 2013

I pound the street my sacro-iliac throbs mightily as the dead skunk roadside pours its scent out for all it’s worth and ┬áthe white fur trembles in the soft breeze and even though I wear my dark cloak of sadness I find something humorous in the silence of the smashed creature, the way its body splays like a knockout victim in a boxing match on TV the angle of the limbs unreal the timing couldn’t be better as the approach of a speeding F-150 forces me onto the side of the road and my heel touches the corpse and the blurred text on the door of the truck goes by and I give the driver the finger me in my sporty outfit him in his overalls and USC hat me suddenly realizing he was probably the one to slay the animal and as I approach the intersection where I’ll turn left to head home a couple argues over a minor traffic altercation the girl having a freakout and the guy picking at his chinos bought on sale at Target the plastic security tag filled with ink still attached and I wonder if he stole them or what?

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