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Highway Arithmetic by Chuck Rybak
My father is the compass that bleeds. “Turn left here. Another left up ahead.” This in the time before Siri or dashboard screens with maps. You had to know the world, the alphabet of country roads, the highway arithmetic. My father’s detached thumb bled through the oily bandanna wrapped around it like it were just a wrench from the garage. The fabric was red before, but I could still see the blood. It was the chainsaw. He yanked its cord and rat…
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Highway Arithmetic by Chuck Rybak
My father is the compass that bleeds. “Turn left here. Another left up ahead.” This in the time before Siri or dashboard screens with maps. You had to know the world, the alphabet of country roads, the highway arithmetic. My father’s detached thumb bled through the oily bandanna wrapped around it like it were just a wrench from the garage. The fabric was red before, but I could still see the blood. It was the chainsaw. He yanked its cord and rat…
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