The Corduroy Mtn. Loisaida Adam Moorad Maybe someone should call an ambulance. He or she has been laying there for a while and the dogs are beginning to pick. Their shadows dance in the gloam. He or she could always be sleeping but, over there, it's probably too chilly. The wind is pouring off the river and the gold hairs on his or her wig are bouncing and blowing. I wonder what he or she looks like underneath. Bet he or she is from Bruuklyn, I think, or Chersy. A plastic bag tumbles down the road. The look of it makes me shiver. He or she must be cold. I think about going over there, but I don't like dogs. Plus, I finally have the pavement warm like I like. His or her gold shoes look pretty beneath the streetlights. The sign above him or her reads: HONEYCUTT. It makes me hungry. The sequins on his or her shoes twinkle. I look at my dirty sneakers and feel inferior. He or she is face down on a section of brick. The brick looks like the color of blood. I think that because maybe there is some over there. He or she hasn't moved for a while. And it's too cold to sleep. I pretend to feel warm. previous | next Added to The Corduroy Mtn. on January the twenty third in the year two thousand and nine.