With the threat of heavy fighting looming in the streets, many windows stayed open. The Holy Ones smacked their lips and twisted their fingers in their well conditioned hair.
Elsewhere…
...a man name Jacob fell dead on a thursday in the back of Factory #7. He was found at shift change tumbled over in a parts bin attacked by his own heart. A supervisor packed the contents of his break room locker into a mint tin and sent it to the coroner. His obituary would say that he was survived by a twelve hour swing shift.
Elsewhere…
...my rifle plants tomatoes and claps back on facebook. Big Momma and Big Black rule the roost in our backyard chicken coup. They don’t understand the meaning of class. Each morning we steal their eggs and feed them to the others.
Elsewhere…
...renters went out on strike. They threw up barricades at either end of sixth street. They shot an arrow into the wind with a note attached to it. The next day a truck full of pizzas arrived courtesy of the labor council. The note had said, “Send bullets”.
Elsewhere…
...there was a knock at the door. Maria Villareal opened it at 7:42:08. Three weeks later she was gone. They called it corona. Her obituary would say she was survived by an unlucky paycheck and 13 parking tickets.
Elsewhere…
...two mutual aid workers stabbed a fascist in an uptown alley. The police called it murder. The mayor said the victim was a good person. The barrio called it community defense and burned down a Walmart.
Elsewhere…
...They dug graves for the dead in abandoned parking lots. The coffins stretched for years.
Elsewhere…
Everywhere…
Always…
We’ve carried their boots. All we have to show for it is our chains.
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