Crybaby Lane

I’m living in the hub of this town long after everything has burned right on down. The fire melted the polyester and wind blew the ashes in my face. I’m living on Crybaby Lane. You can still hear the orphans cry, and the wind blows that much colder when it comes around the corner from Bluebird Way. The charred wood cracks underfoot (causing lockjaw) and the rusty nails poke through (that should have held it together). Causing lockjaw. Causing tetanus.