The other day, me and my boy were taking a walk down the bayou. We crossed the railroad bridge and noticed a pickup crashed in the bank a little down the way. We walked down to the wreck. The tracks were dry in the mud.
My kid says, "Daddy, what are those shiny things?"
I look into the bed at a thick blossom of empty cans around an empty cardboard case.
"Bud Light. Straw-Ber-Rita."