copyright 1985

     It was July when they hit Miami. The merciless humidity could melt the skin off your face. A long span of street known as Flagler was indolent, lined with squat, bleached buildings. Papo got off the bus and started walking like he knew where he was going. Juanita followed him because she didn't. Neither one of them knew anyone in Miami  except Papo's brother, and he didn't want to know them....

1 comment:

Jane Frieman said...

I am #JanieUnknownWriter living on SSI early retirement and food stamps. In my life I feel that I can consider myself as the "proletariat". My strong virtue is creativity.I have been writing journals and poetry for many years. Nothing has been published.