* When the spectacle is over and the last cracks of thunder fade out against the cliff that backs the clearing the Kid stands motionless again. His shadow stretches away from him. His chest will turn purple and yellow and green by tomorrow morning. The cut that jags across his left forearm has already clotted and crusted. The crowd disperses around him. The wounded have been dragged away leaving sidewinder trails in the earth dotted with brown patches of sweat or drink and speckles of blood. The Kid’s ears ring. His teeth gleam against his pulledback lips.
Burner Magazine: The MUSIC Issue
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