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while I fumbled off the pack and pulled out a lighter.
Ali began to wax poetic about the life of a struggling artist, but I could hardly pay attention. The Snowbird still clung in the back of my mind, driving me past curiosity
and dangerously close to obsession.
“You think time travel’s real, Ali?” I asked without regard
for a segue or the fact that she was in the middle of speaking. My question confused her but after she thought about it for a moment, she spoke.
“Nah, it don’t make any sense,” she said with a grimace, flicking the ashes from the tip of her cigarette.
“What about, like, aliens?” I continued, taking a drag off the cigarette.
“Nah, they don’t make any sense either,” she said, doing the same. “You okay, Connie?”
I laughed, not really knowing if I was. I felt like I was going crazy.
“I don’t really know. Ask me again tomorrow.”
With that, I flicked the butt of my cigarette into the
ashtray above the trash can and headed off.
I was nearly home by the time I got the alert. The local news app for my phone notified me another child had been attacked at the eastside Saguaro National Park on the other side of town. I sat there at a red light, reading
and