RED RIVER

After the steady streams of piss running down the streets. After the laundry snapping on the lines. After the pop up shop heaving with 9 euro leather jackets, Daria arrived at the building. Art nouveau sprang from the ceiling. Woodworms were boring holes in the wood beams. There was something under her. The ancient tiles of a long gone city. A woman, layered in blue robes, was slurping coffee at the wooden table. The woman’s hair was a wild bush. She was painting some tarot cards. The woman flipped over two tarot cards. The tarot cards were meaty. Olive green like the army. You have the card of the emperor, said the woman, but also the hermit. Do you want the throne or the cave, she said. I think I’d prefer the cave, said Daria, looking at the mask of the demon on the wall. The demon had bulging eyes and buck teeth. Four horns on the forehead. Wolf snout. Have you appeased the spirits, said the woman. She thought of her brother. Hiding in the trenches. Daria shook her head slowly. She looked again at the demon. The tongue of the demon hung down like a red river. The spirits are always hungry.