The Streetcar is coming. The Streetcar is not coming. The Streetcar exists in a state of quantum flux. The Streetcar is both the deepest truth and the greatest lie. Do not look at the Streetcar directly.
OTR is growing. It is a cancer. The streets crack and suppurate and bleed. The tumors rent for $2,500 a month.
There is a shop in Findlay Market that is always closed. Shapes move inside, but the door is locked. Occasionally something dark splatters on the inside of the windows. It is artisanal and locally-grown, you are sure.
A barge floats down the river. You do not look, you only leave a coin on your windowsill. In the morning the coin is gone and so is your neighbor.
The President is visiting. All the Presidents are visiting. They beg for release, and the voters whisper, “No.”
Skyline’s secret chili recipe tastes of regret and tears. You know where the regret is from. You dare not ask about the tears.
Oktoberfest comes once a year. The sacrifices come more often. You drink your beer and pray that it’s not you, not today. The oompa band drowns out the screams.