Steam

“My father died when he went into the steam room and his fentanyl patch released the entire month’s dose at once.” She told us this standing in a hipster knitting store in Ojai. We were in search of good coffee and a morning away from the broken garage door and the nest of six velvet rats in the compost barrel. On a quest from the Midwest; Kansas, prairie, dust, cutting prescription pills into heroin for kicks. She was “searching for somewhere.” Tired of her old life. Her sweater said, “Keep what you need.” I think she was stalking us....

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