The Red Pudding

Red and pink pudding strewn across the asphalt on what is now a Jackson Pollack-ified Baltimore street. It is night time and the rat skitters past anĀ orange alley cat snapping peevishly at its own haunch. A train lays on its horn a half-mile away, thirty yards away, a few feet away, close enough now toContinue reading “The Red Pudding”