Fiction
Roadkillby Chip Jett
There is a certain absurdity inherent in the parallel experiences of standing in a returns line and perusing missing persons photos on a nearby wall. I used to look at the most-wanted photos at the post office, but now, in the internet age, I no longer go to the post office. I haven’t been inside one in probably ten years or more. I suppose that’s why they (whoever “they” is) posted these pictures, these cries for help, at the next, most trafficked place on earth: the customer-service desk at Walmart.
Even still, I’ve never recognized a face in the photos, though I’ve thought, on more than one occasion, She looks familiar, and more than once I’ve reminded myself, but don’t they all? Those smiling faces, so happy at the time of the photo’s taking, so lost by
