On the left-hand side of the back seat of the red Kia, Grayson sat in his crumb-lined booster. On the rear window behind him was a sticker of a skeleton in a top hat pointing toward a bat mid-flight. Underneath were the words: THERE IT GOES, MY LAST FLYING FUCK.
A loudness drew Grayson's attention away from the fluorescent green tablet mounted in front of him. Something called the Spring Overture by someone named Ippolitov-Ivanov rushed from the open window of an old white Odyssey.
The boy from the park sat in the back of the minivan. John was slightly too small for the seatbelt, which awkwardly stretched across his neck. There were no stickers behind him, but there was a dent on his side.
Grayson caught John’s eye and made his best monster face. John gave him a thumbs up in return, his knuckles still a bit bloody.
Bauhausfrau’s work has appeared in Expat Press, Do Not Submit, and Spectra Poets.