By Alex Z. Salinas
This is an almost true story. This is an almost untrue story. Money makes miracles. Miracles make money, ocean, the stars. Larvae and straight white teeth. Larry Rios takes off work, works from home. One foot in front of the other. One word after another, description of a face—The Snake-Haired Lady’s: forehead long as the desert. Skin pale like wolf-trodden snow. Tongue black as rot in the forest. He sometimes thinks he’ll escape the nightmare. Sometimes thinks he’ll avoid hell’s lash. I forgot to mention something earlier, dear reader: miracles beget miracles, but they don’t resolve the consequence of time.