Blame It On Reno

I was a slut in the seventh grade kissing one of the Sanchez twins Duane then Gene Gischu holding onto Pleistocene remnants that bygone era all salty Pyramid and Walker slot machines even at the grocery store my fingers combing their beautiful shirts so desert crisp until time ran out Nothing waited in the desert even though it looked frozen and windy the world passing by the biggest little city and the same tired patience on all the adult faces