Warlock

A couple weekends ago I went with my mother back to my stomping grounds so as to engage in some filial productivity. As I was gazing into the steam of my grandmother's steaming chorizo a most ungodly racket emerged from the trailer with authentic Circle K signs decorating it. In investigation I found my emo cousin howling out the pain of his still fetal soul. I suggest to him an outing to calm his (and more importantly my grandparent's) mind. He agreed and bounded off onto the dirt road elating stories of late night rampages in stolen cars with jail bait aged boys. After watching him chuck stones at an old television abandoned by "poor people"I pointed to a thick grove of trees in the distance and asked, "Isn't that where small animals are said to be sacrificed?" He nodded exuberantly. "Tony Via is a witch, well I guess cuz he's a man a warlock. There's little squirrel hearts on tree stumps. Wanna see?"
The path lead past a canal of cotton water. The closer we got the more abundance of tires I saw. A dead dog with his four legs sticking stiffly in the air lay before us. My cousin lifted his shirt over his face, grabbed a long stick and started jabbing at it till the purple tongue hung out. At my urging he stopped to show me the rest. We found big screen TV boxes, old shoes, detergent, little boy's backpacks and tons of beer bottles. I came to the conclusion that this was a den of sin of a different sort- not necessarily witchery.
It was a contemplative walk home.