Hunt

Looking for a sign, I shone my flashlight against the base of the palm tree. Stuck in time: illuminated against the bark several cockroaches appeared. Afraid they scurried under the roots, into the dirt and sewer, and I away, rubbing at the skin of stale mosquito bites.

No. 174

Pests

Side of the road he flailed his arms around. Bugs propagate in the summer heat, stagnant water providing ample breeding ground. Flies and gnats form a cloud backlit by the setting sun, undulating in rhythmic movements. “Get them off of me,” he said. “Get them off of me.”

No. 140

Sweat

A man rolled down the backseat window, relieved to feel fresh air. He stuck his arm onto the edge of the car. With his other hand, he wiped a bead of sweat from his temple. The driver apologized for the broken air conditioning.

No. 080