06 enero, 2010


Rainville. Hardly ever did though, rain that is. It was nowhere. Railroad tracks ran up the back of the state like stitches. Telephone lines slashed the orange dawns like a wrecked ship’s rigging… And when it rained the whole town went mad. Dogs ran wild in the streets. Frank was squeezed between scrap iron places and radiator repair shops… Rainville, good place to dream yourself away from. When the trains thundered past the backyard fence, bound for Oxnard, Lompoc, Gila Bend, Stanfield and parts south where the wind blew big, Frank would count the cars and make a wish just like he did when he was a kid… At least something was getting out of town alive…
One moonlit night Frank packed up his accordion and said blow wind blow wherever you may go…Cause I’m going straight to the top… Up where the air is fresh and clean.

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