August Snow

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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WHAT'S AUGUST SNOW ABOUT?

“I'm looking into her death—”

“A suicide?” O'Donnell laughed, even though I was beginning to think she thought very little if anything was funny. “Not much to look into there, bucko. Seems the Grosse Pointe police, the State police, the Detroit police and assorted sundry others have quickly concluded she took her own life.”

“They're not as smart as me,” I said, taking a healthy swig of my beer. Michigan might be at the forefront of making quality craft beers, but so far none even approached a good Mexican beer, “Nor are they as righteously vigilant.”

Neither time nor politics have been kind to Detroit. In Mexicantown, they've been downright cruel.

August Snow

AUGUST SNOW

Later, sitting on my new forest-green leather sofa, I looked through family photo albums: My mother and father picnicking on Belle Island. Vacationing in Traverse City and Alabama and south of Mexico City. Their wedding. Me as a baby with my dad's badge pinned to my onesie. Thanksgivings and Christmases. Day of the Dead celebrations in Mexicantown. High school and college graduations. My dad saluting me at my graduation from the academy.

Family albums go better with scotch.

Or a gun.

—August Snow