Souvenir From Nowhere
Mel Bosworth

I frown, wave him off. My wingtips scuff on the curb, then up the concrete steps, starving birds peck at my jacket. I forget her name, maybe never knew it. Courtney stood at the sink in her panties. I punched the wall for show. A woman turns her ankle coming down the steps. Blood wig jumps off like a spider, and the concrete eats her knees and palms. I shouldn't laugh. Gray eyes water. Short fingers flick stale bread to strutting pigeons. I spit once in the cold, but still can't remember the name.