CHURCH
Scott Garson
I gave a girl a ride to church one morning. She was hitchhiking and I stopped. She had blink-away eyes and smelled like cigarettes and was pale and wore a light blue shirt that was darker between her shoulder blades, in the place where her hair was still drying. It was auburn hair. It fell in tight, even waves. I said hi. At the curb by the lawn in front of the church, I said here we are.