Stories Of The Han

The tents caught fire A plumage of smoke wafted in the hot air The Valley was alive and if that was any indication of the night I knew I was in for one I sat at the bar at Sally’s minding my own business, chewing through my umbrella The drink was hitting at a good angle as Mona appeared to my right She cooed in my ear asking if I wanted a dance I looked at her and she looked pretty, pretty enough She walked me to the back, signaled to cue her song and began her trance I sat there looking at her, examining her face, that dimple on her back She was young and experienced, there was hurt and danger in her eyes She slowly churned her butter, swaying her hips, mouthing the lyrics to her song I smiled quietly to myself and thought of her, the other, the women who had shared their tales of sadness They were lost and found and lost again Soon the music ended, I stepped outside feeling the still of the night. The moon yellowed and strange. I looked as far as I could, admiring that dark sky, that cloak of