Kevin Brennan Writes About What It's Like
If you haven’t wandered over to The Housewife yet, there’s new fiction there today, by young Mississippi writer, Katrina Byrd.
We were worried.
It was late evening. The sun was about to set. The sky hung over the Wednesday night crowd like a mat of red hot flames. It was as if the heavens were against us too.
We wanted to do our jobs. They wanted us gone.
It was them against us. Our group was small. Five, maybe ten of us at the most. Though we yelled and cursed at them, we were scared. They had signs. They had their Bibles, their hymns, and their ankle-length skirts. They had the support of the entire town. We had their husbands.
We knew there would be trouble when the new mayor called for a restoration of Macon Street. Always trying to clean us up like we are the grape juice stain soaking into the white fabric of their “moral” town. They were decent people. We could smell it on them.
View original post 1,333 more words