Blue Caravan

The accompanying soundtrack for this fiction is here.


 

“I guess this is it.”

They stared at the crossroads, heels swinging below the tailgate.

“Don’t let Tes get her stuck again.”

“Don’t let my wife overwork.”

 

Chipped teacup. Chipped nails. Scarred face. Bit lip. 

Crimson. Broken. 

 

“Maybe one more.”

 

Filth milk. Shiny hubcap. Clenched hands. Embroidered patch. 

Pale. Whole. 

 

“Come see me soon, put some more miles on the Rosie.”

 

Settling dusk. Smudged fingertips. Sooty exhaust. Cast shadow.

Dark. Distance.

 

“Lady Luck, please.”

 

Whispered prayer. Lonestar sky. Quiet solitude. Drizzly morning. 

Blue. Cold.

 

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