All we had to bring were the bodies. The WD-40, the wrench and the guts enough to brave the cop-infested downtown district of Santa Fe were already accounted for, something for which I was entirely too grateful. I hung in the back of Elizabeth Auburt’s blue Toyota, pressed in the tiny space that separated the passenger seat from the truck bed and listening with a soft sort of apathy to the sounds of the metal roof caving in the wake of Elizabeth’s footsteps.
I’m thinking of you tonight, about Nathan and Joe McKenzie, about Hayley, and about that snowy night when we destroyed a street sign at the corner of McKenzie and Griffin, because it needed to be done.
Thank you, and happy 4th of July.
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