When the clouds roll in I grab the keys and put outside in a corner her shirt. Still crackles and buzzes like a cattle tank, her makeshift rig inside its corrugated enclosure watched over by the two anonymous single mothers. I walk for an entire night, progressing, filtering through her shirt the rig and ancient blueprint. And one anonymous mother and small package of crackers and small frozen hamburger rewires the rig. Just like that, the intricate Liliana substation. Other anonymous mother does her one better. I observe, the child in me does. Entranced. And she passes it off as jackhammer maintenance and jackhammer maintenance is no harmless candle. A small packet of cheese crackers and a tiny box of juice and she vectors them in the dark, with violence, at the first anonymous mother, to cloak herself in ordinariness. Without shoes nonchalantly seizes the first anonymous mother by the hood sits her in another corner. Scrambles over the rig putting the cat shit back inside the cat and other miracles mothers recount for comfort.
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