The Gandy Dark

Three miles, under moonlight, over the dark bay, a long bridge over troubled water. Aside the Sawgrass swamps. The Doors’ low groan hypnotic. New Orleans is waiting for you. Look, I’ll drive, your friend says when you start swerving sideways. You’re slipping under, you are fading down to dreams. Yes, you say, stab your fingers into the packet of American Spirit, wave them at the pale pomelo half-plate in the sky, the sliver of moon that is lighting your way. You are on your way to meet the Devil you don’t believe in, but neither of you know it yet.

From Guest Contributor Lorette C. Luzajic

Lorette is a widely published writer of flash fiction and prose poetry, with recent or forthcoming appearances in Tiny Molecules, The Citron Review, Ghost Parachute, Dillydoun Review, and more. She is the founder and editor of The Ekphrastic Review, a journal of literature inspired by visual art.