Jack kilborn SErial blakE crouch

Jack kilborn SErial blakE crouch
heartwarming depth of their new screams, skipped back to
the car and hopped in and stomped the gas, their cries rising
into something like the baying of hounds, lucy howling
back. She pushed the Subaru past fifty, to sixty, to seventy
five, and in the illumination of the spotlight, the boys
bounced along the pavement, on their backs, their sides,
their stomachs, and with every passing second looking
more and more lovely, and still making those delicious
screams she could almost taste, lucy driving with no
headlights, doing eighty under the moon, and the cold
winter wind rushing through the windows like the breath
of God.
She made it five miles, (no one had ever lasted five miles
and she credited those well-made snowboarding helmets),
before the skeletons finally went quiet.
lucy ditched what was left of the boys and drove all night
like she’d done six blasts of coke, arriving in Salt lake as
the sun edged up over the mountains. She checked into
a red roof inn and ran a hot bath and cleaned the new
blood and the old blood out of the ropes and let the cara-biners
and the chains and the handcuffs soak in the soapy water.
in the evening she awoke, that dark weight perched on her
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