What a place, oh what a place a place so strange to rest one's face. Three people parked for the night instead of cars. No ordinary family should sleep in such a space.
This was normal in our case. This is what we did. We'd sojourn from here to there. Sometimes at a nightly rate, sometimes with men who bore not my father's face.
I remember one smokey spot where drunk men found women to chase. There were rows of open green and sticks and smooth round stones. Crashing and clinking and cheersing while whiskey went down at a freakish pace.
A steady stream of Shirley Temple and a roll of quarters could keep me busy for hours. As long as I didn't sit on the stools or get too tired you had all the time you could waste.
I had to sleep eventually so you let me sleep while you went and watched the horses race. I woke in a teary terror in a silent and empty place. I dialed my dad, hid under the covers
and grabbed a kitchen knife just in case. That was the end of our run mommy our time together was done. You fell ill shortly after all this and you died in a feverish haste, in a feverish haste.