Owen worked at a sub shop on top of a hill. It was an easy job, it was quiet. Rarely did people come in and those that did were lazy old truckers and the amish locals, both of which strayed from chit-chat and confrontation. Owen didnt go out much other than for work, a daily drive to and from. The simplicity didn't bother him much; Owen was content with the life he lead.

Itd snowed all day today but outside the window he could see that it was starting to clear up and that the sun was starting to set. At the bottom of the hill he could see a truck serpentining up the life-size model set. The sky was maroon and the ground was a pillow. He decided to make himself a sandwich.

In the back, sitting with his sandwich, he heard the door in front ring. He got up, put a pair of gloves on and came to the front. Behind the sneeze guard was a man, brittle and old, face scratchy and frost bitten, fresh out of the cold. His truck sat running outside the window with its headlights beaming in, the sky dusk. He asked for a ham sandwich. Something sat in the air between Owen and the old man but what that was was something left in the dimensions beyond us. As Owen made the sub the man stood staring outside at the evening enwrapping the storefront. Owen finished the sandwich and rung him up. Owen gave him his change and the man tucked his bills into his coat. Standing there, the man stared worry into Owens eyes. Somehow Owen knew that the man had something for him so he stared back, waiting for whatever he was to receive. No one was around and no one remembers now. Finally, the old man spoke:
'My arms remember the raping of natives, same as the wires that still lie strung beneath us. The universe is no longer pedalled by me, stars splain rape nude. The eternal turn is stopped and buried far beneath the ruin of me' Regularly Updated. Last Updated: 1/8/21