Mags + Literary Series
Intermission - On My Road
It was late Thursday night, maybe Friday morning. The hanging bag
dripped a sugar solution down a thin white plastic hose into his
father's arm. The skin was splotchy and thin like over-stretched
The son slouched in a padded green chair next to the bed. Out past
the window, snow swirled around a sodium streetlight. Flakes caught
the light like a noose of dandruff, then tightened, then disappeared.
The son was awake, electric from the half-finished cup of thin,
scalding coffee in a chewn styrofoam cup. He picked his cuticles,
working on a little strip of skin until it stood up like paper. Then
he bit it off, toying it with his teeth, then spitting it to the
He stared at his father. The old man's breath hardly stirred his
stark-rib chest. He put his thumb against his teeth and bit down.
A thin stream of greenish light came under the crack in the door.
A yellow bruise dripped through the window. They met on the marble
floor in a glowing smear. It reminded him of the liquid remains on
an autopsy table.
He bit down hard and winced. Blood. He felt the piece of flesh grind
between his teeth. He worked it around from front to back. He spit
it out and reached for the coffee.
The wind moaned long and low. He sipped. He sipped again. The snow