Dave Smith

Under the Scrub Oak, a Red Shoe

bruises, so we would have had no fear of any we might add, earUer, when we stood smoking by the waU, cat-calUng Ughtly. It would have been one of those nights the breath aches it is so pleased with itself, then she appeared in that red Uke the first cactus buds, something clearly wrong with her but that, by God, no concern of any red-blooded buck she might want. In the junk car someone squealed, some rose and fell. There were no names. I did not mean