We were not put on earth,
the old man said, he was hacking into the crust
of a sourdough half loaf in his vehement, impatient way
with an old horn-handled knife, to express ourselves.
I knew he had seen whole cities leveled . . .
---Robert Hass

---

Andrew was driving drunk. We didn't know how much he'd had when we loaded eight people into his four available seats. We were all screaming at him to pull over and let someone else drive, but he just kept going, calling us "haters." We were on Enfield now, curvy and dark, and I remembered I had Becca's camera in my free hand.