Apricity Press Issue #1 | Page 16

Shooter

Howie Good

Bones had been incorporated in the architecture. It was the most important thing and almost a secret. The streets named for trees were being renamed with numbers. Until that time, I didn’t know he had guns. I would say, “Hey, man, you all right?” He would say, “Hi,” but that’s it. The neighbor’s children really irritated him. No one thought to ask if loneliness, like love or anger, is a self-renewing fire. An ominous crowd of birds perched on power lines. He watched the news throughout the day with his mother in hopes of seeing the world end.