THERE'S NO TELLING - blythe winslow


blythe winslow

If you just get your license and then take a drive and then hit a man crossing the street, there’s no telling what you might do next, and this is not to say that you might hit another person crossing the street or that you'll go in the bathroom at the party you were driving to and cut yourself or drink too much or kiss other people’s girlfriends, this is just to say that you’re only sixteen and life feels just about as large and inexplicable as the small eye-expression of a killer whale in a tank at Sea World. See, world, this is you; you’re youth-hard and ready for basketball, football, any type of game involving a ball, which wouldn’t be so bad at a time like this, a time when you’re not sure if you’ll tell someone I probably just killed a dude, or if you’ll just sit and wonder if you care or if you’ll cry or if there’s something wrong with you for momentarily enjoying the sound of flesh and metal as it met, that is to say, as you made it meet.

Blythe Winslow
Glen Pourciau