THE DINER ON THE CORNER PROMISES SALVATION  in their sweet tea. it tastes metallic    —    almost like copper, but still strangely sweet. when you ask the waitress what it’s made of, she smiles. her irises are as black as her teeth. you haven’t gone back to that diner, but every once in a while, you can still taste that tea.

the roadside ads only ever talk about god. you’re driving    (   do you remember getting in the car  ?  )    and they read, REPENT, and HELL IS REAL. next to you    —    a peeling billboard with a phone number on it, promising to tell you where you go when you die. you realize that, actually, not one sign mentioned god himself. you don’t call the number.

there is a house down the road    —    nobody’s lived there for years, but the lights are always on. night comes, they shine through your curtains    ;    a neon red spotlight, looking for you, always looking for you. when you ask your friends about it, they say it follows them, too.