I used to make for the train tracks at the end of our street whenever I felt trapped in my life and needed to dream of being rescued by an Alfred that would never come. My mother was never interested in doing things outside, and my father only did on the weekends sometimes, on the condition he wasn’t too tired, and …
Ravine
Two dogs cross the street to say hello and trigger me, leaving their owners on the curb to sniff one another’s gossip, and one pooch is holding onto what appears to be a child’s winter boot, which I’m presuming it found somewhere on the side of the road after all the snow melt, and violently forced into its maw. I’m reminded …