J. A. TYLER
We don’t eat here by the splash of the seals, this place my mom says it is too dirty, covered in scattering chipmunks. DON’T TOUCH THE RAIL JONAH, ITS FILTHY. YUCK. DON’T. Which is hard because I want to hold the rail, swing back and on it like a push-up in reverse, eat a chip, I am hungry. NO CHIPS she says, pulling my shirt, the middle of my back, hands losing the bar, the rail. GIVE ME YOUR HANDS, and she rubs them with sanitizer until they smell like my dad, lemon and his breath. FILTHY and I think, yes, filthy, like that.
A CHIPMUNK
