They weren’t waiting for someone else to come along they could love more.
Finance that shit and figure it out later.
Next to the field was a yellow truck from the ’50s. It was covered in moss.
It felt like butterflies. Angry ones. Butterflies that are sick of the stomach’s cramped quarters. Butterflies that wanted out, out, out.
I especially loved, “And that one dust-bowl lady everyone’s seen.” That was excellent. Matt would like us to know the following:
Matt Zamudio is a writer from the San Francisco Bay Area who recently moved to Chicagolandia. He publishes MATT, a Substack newsletter, and hosts the JOY, NOT FEAR podcast on YouTube. He's working on compiling his first collection of short stories and generally dislikes referring to himself in the third person. So, enough of that. Thanks for reading, y'all.