The woman stepped from the 18th century
into a stark gymnasium. She wore a long, simple
grey dress, wooden clogs, her hair pulled back in a bun.
She produced a pair of scissors from her pocket.
When in Paris she had taken regular internet lessons
at the Crèmerie. With her left hand
she pulled her tongue taut. She brought the scissors
to her face and snipped.
She crouched on the floor, clutching her mouth.
She brought a handkerchief to her mouth.
Blood soaked the handkerchief. She crouched there amidst the vacuous noises
of a café amidst the steam
huddled in a corner of the gym
between a basketball and wooden climbing apparatus.
The curtain swept over her. The curtain receded, leaving in its wake,
a stiff-limbed, dead horse. Another woman walked in, dressed nearly identically
to the first. This woman held a Luger pistol away from her body
and spray painted the gun barrel gold.