Sometimes I wish to live down a dirt road that never washes away. There is a pond out back with a small boat tied by a frayed rope to a weathered pier. A converted schoolhouse from a town forgotten stands amongst tall pines and scattered hardwoods. At midnight under a full moon surrounded by as many stars as I have never seen I walk into the road, point my megaphone at a silo and say, Tom. Let's have a photo shoot.
He's been waiting an hour so I immediately hear, What took you so long?
A girl's gotta sleep, I say.
Meet you at the turpentine still, he says. Bring the lights. I got some ideas.