happy father’s day
before he was my dad he would strap goggles to his face and lay face down in a tarp, in a puddle of alkyl nitrites. when he was good and high his friends would unroll him, then take contrasty photos of his goofy smile and place them amongst a larger compilation on a shelf in a container in the bed of a truck. my dad didn’t know about the photos. i had a crush on the librarian. she had short brown hair. the truck tipped over, but the books stayed in place.