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What is it about this disarray of life that eats at my guts on a hot morning in July while I stand in a sauna of soap and bleach in the kitchen of the Silver Taco Café in a town in the desert that has no right to be here.

I throw down a white towel and say, “Fuck it! I’m not working here anymore, Eeyore!” That’s my boss’ name, and everyone calls him “The Ass.” He is an ass. He treats people horribly. He yells, cusses, throws things around. Even over the simplest little mistake.

He gets in my face and points a finger. I think he’s going to poke out my eye. “You quit!?” he spits. “Right in the middle of lunch rush?”

“I’m going out to the desert and get drunk,” I tell him. “You’re not going to control my life anymore.”

“Go ahead. Idiot.”

I sit at the edge of the inkwell pool and suck on a bottle of tequila. I’m getting pretty drunk and everything is warm. Even the sun is warm. Black hook wasps are shifting about. I gaze over the edge of the inkwell pool. The water is dark, still, and I know so endlessly deep. I know I would die if I fell in there. Once in, there is no escape. The walls of the pool are vertical dirt and bend inward. It would be impossible to climb out. It’s a deathtrap in the desert. I stand up. I’m wobbly. My foot slips slightly. I think about the blue diamond lady. She wouldn’t even miss me.

I step back, strip off all my clothes, except my hiking boots and socks, and I yell at the sky. I howl like one of the coyotes crossing my path. I look around suddenly because I get the sense someone is watching me and probably laughing or aiming a gun at me. I work my way up a ridge and look out on the desert around me. Mostly flat, slightly rolling. Hard ground. Spotty brush. Distant hills swathed in a mist. Blue burning sky up above. Far off is a strange building and structure, like power pylons and a command center only orbital. I wonder if it is a gas plant or a helium ranch. There are sounds of machines coming up from beneath the ground. There could be an entire civilization down there. It’s faint but frightfully audible. And the air is hot and there is a slight breeze.

I go back down the ridge and gather my clothes. I’m too drunk and if I don’t get back to the car I will die out here. I’m starting to get sluggish as I walk. I throw the tequila bottle, and it smashes against a rock somewhere. There’s a mannequin and I kiss her, then run. I turn to see if she has made chase and there is nothing there. I finally stumble into my car, get in, start the engine, crank the A/C. I grab a water bottle and drink. It’s warm, but wet. I lay back in my seat and rest in the flow of cool air. I eventually fall asleep. When I wake the end of day is already crusting over. The sky is sheet metal gray and orange. I have a headache and a bad taste in my mouth. The car is almost out of gas. I put it in gear and drive back to the city in the desert.

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Special thanks to Edge of Humanity Magazine for publishing three of my poems recently: Coffee Shop Rain, The Translucent Wander Pain, and Space Curtain. Please go check them out! Also, a reminder that my new e-book is now available for purchase: The Apocalypse Pipe. The print edition will be available soon. Thanks for reading and supporting independent creators.