tokotah-alley

The clock on the wall brings a lazy hand to the zenith of its' cycle. It's cohort thinks it must be three…a rude pair I consider them, one eternally pointing and the other currently flipping me off. Three o'clock once marked a time of loosened tongues and orange tic-tacs, triple meter and maple leaves, playground philosophy and seesaw morals, and a constant quest for an existence beyond the constraints of our computer screens. Such was not possible, of course…in our world, we live by the hands of the discourteous clock and serve the will of finicky circuitry. Such is business. But now three o'clock is grains of salt rubbed in my cuts, a res

They always warned her. "Don't drive with two feet, Sarah. It's not normal." She never listened, of course. Two feet meant faster reaction time…that had to be better. It also meant a faster death when she slammed both feet down as the SUV in front of her came to a sudden stop. The engine for once proved stronger than the brakes. The SUV proved stronger than her car. No one considered that she must've been speeding, must've been tailgating, that some random and conveniently murderous stranger decided to chuck a squirrel into the road in front of the SUV. No, she was driving with two feet. That had to be it. We should've done her a favor and c