Spanish Key (excerpt)
There’s a party. In the square. They’ve come. To calm the heat. Some swig dark. Rum from a bottle. Others. Smoke. There’re the girls. In their undulating dresses. Reminiscent. Porcelain. Dolls. Like marionettes. Weaving spells. It’s hot. Nobody. Hurries. One old guy. Passes. A bottle. Joints make the rounds. Saturday. The kid with the trumpet makes his way. To the stand. Hits that high note & then another. The others join him as the gnarly crowd twitches & shifts from one foot to the other. There’s a guy in a wheelchair. He carries a pistol under his blanket. Don’t trust no one. I guess. Can’t blame him. It’s been a nasty year. An old woman drags her curious son to see the hotshots in their zoot suits, holds up a sign in Spanish that translates: Too Late! Too Late!