From Our Editors
The sun glints off the hood the Lincoln Town Car and into my bloodshot eyes. It’s early and the atmosphere is thin on this planet.
I take one last drag and flick my cigarette onto the dead grass underfoot. The front door of the salmon-hued compound opens, revealing a paunchy creature with pale green legs, saggy bermuda shorts, and a tail that slinks through the dirt like an old garden hose, bulging in some parts and worn in others. He shouts and curses in a language I’ve never heard as he drags an enormous suitcase through the doorway. His metallic tunic, which drapes over his gut like the pregnant woman's gown in that Jan van Eyck painting, stops me for a moment. I try to remember the title. Something about a marriage…
As if on cue, a female specimen steps through the doorway behind him, wearing hot pants and massive black sunglasses that don’t fit her miniscule head. She buzzes like a fly and shouts at the man, the sound of her nasal voice snapping me out of my early morning stupor.
"Let me help you with that, ma'am," I croak, my southern manners returning despite my grogginess. She looks at me quizzically and barks again in that strange tone.
I sidle up beside her and take the oversize luggage from her hands and motion for them to slip inside. Then I run my finger along the soft leather. Can't help it sometimes. Reminds me of home.
"New Hawaii, eh?" I ask, glancing into the rearview mirror, knowing my words will fall on deaf ears.
They chatter away in their foreign tongue, but I press on.
“Never been myself,” I mumble, glancing upward at the dusty purple sky and the thin glass dome that arcs across it. I gasp instinctively, remembering that glass dome is the only thing keeping me alive on this godforsaken rock.
“I hear the sunsets can make a grown man cry.”