Gold chain. Bronze skin. Cheese brain. Holes. Yes, Gorgon Zola rules the
Beach. She strolls, she kicks some sand — the mild man winces, clears his
Eyes. Despises her. She’s tall and cruel and cool as sour cream. His dreams
Are dry. She’ll paralyze — an icepick in his spine. She’ll fine him when
His wheelchair’s parked on double yellow lines. He takes it because he has
To… because he’s built like stale spaghetti. Zola’s pointing the machete
— so he jumps!
