Friday, November 22, 2013

EDNA: I rode alone in the rain. Three times I passed a smushed robin, lying on its back, its red chest rent like a garment.

JOHN: Where?

EDNA: At the top of the lumbering hill.

JOHN: Where your legs run out.

EDNA: And your lungs are in debt.

JOHN: Birds die all the time. What can we do?

EDNA: We can be wider receivers.