He turned up the music on the portable radio he carried in with him. Thumpy dance music blasted in a visible wavy cone from the radio speakers. This might have been due to the drugs or possibly it was some special feature that made him buy this particular radio in the first place. I don’t keep up with popular music.
“What’s that for?” I shouted, “This motel is deserted!”
It was, too. And in the middle of fucking nowhere. Nine hours of flying to get here and I was so tired I didn’t think he’d need the happy-gas to knock me out. I was ready to drop right then and there. I shouted again, “Can we at least turn it down a bit?”
He ignored me and and began laying out his tools, his chin bopping minutely, asymmetrically to the overheated machine-gun bass. Absurd. Most the metal doo-dads were in little pre-sterilized packets bearing military insignia I didn’t recognize. Which country has a moon and cat on thier flag? Do we?
I’m sorry for the way things trurned out.
“You wanna keep ’em?” he asked.
I stood in front of the mirror and raised my wings to full spread one last time. “They’re all yours,” I said.
photos taken at Ojo Caliente, New Mexico.
Text and images © Andrew Auten – All Rights Reserved.