Common Alpine Butterfly
The cachet of mainstream automobile rust rests a little heavy on Yannick’s shoulders, but it’s variable, a brown with orange patches containing several black spots, and the largest spots have a white center. I thought it was a shirt until I got close enough and noticed he never took it off, and right there underneath was an ordinary brown, in front of a grayish-brown with black spots.
I didn’t think he was all that weird though until I saw him eating grass in the beautiful moist meadow we had hiked to as if we were something he did every day. When I looked closer I could see he moved especially slow and straight and close to the ground but with a sense of hovering over it. He didn’t stop often or long.
Yannick’s little brother had this hoodie he nearly always wore, laterally striped with green and a light brown like he was trying to be some kind of well-prepared urban environmentalist then. Oh socialism, oh communal gangdom, oh yester and vitamins, I joked with him, but he just ate more grass. And you smother go bang bang, I said, irritated.
Finally he looked at me and just said, Super, and Yannick laughed, and my ignorant camel refused to go any further in that direction. He knows there’s a loser on his expression and he doesn’t care. Thoughts and prayers go out to those who must coexist with the young.
Returning to the dry hillside from the flowery moist meadow, I kicked the bun that had fallen upon the pathway, but before my foot reached it, it had turned to stone, and it kicked me back without moving.
That’s when I noticed there’s a little bit of ask on Yannick’s nose, so I did, and he holds onto his keys and blows on his heated leftovers, but he’s a little too prompt to pull the trigger and we let it go.
Now it’s only me keeping my hat from failing, and Yannick doesn’t wear one. Sometimes I speak bat or crow, and always I am surprised how much I agree with them. A bevy of gravediggers hover and dart near the disturbed earth. The vein in Yannick’s little brother’s forehead swells and pulses with indignation, which is a form of anger that believes it’s right about everything and peculiarly alpine.