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"On Tuesday, July 1, 1980, In Billings, Montana, Which Is In The Southern Quadrant Of The State, It Was 70 Degrees Which Is Hot Enough To Make Most People Stay Inside In The Afternoon Except Maybe Kids, And Being Close To The Fourth Of July The Kids Would Have Been Lighting Fireworks And Watching Them Pop And Sizzle Into The Big Blue Sky Over The Peaks Of The Bighorn Mountains Like Man-Made Comets Or Magic Spells. Just South Of Town The Heat Would Have Left Two Kids Looking For A Shady Place To Kiss, Which Would Lead Them To Pictograph Cave, A Sacred Site Excavated By Archaeologists In The 1930's Where 106 Pictographs Were Found, Some As Old As 2000 Years, Whose Origins Still Leave Everyone Guessing Because Generations Of Native Americans Have Added Onto The Existing Pictures Again And Again So That The Stories Of Old Battles Intersect With The New, Confusing History, And Maybe It Was These Things A Slight Girl With Green Eyes And Straw-Colored Hair Who Liked To Draw And Who Was Between Her Eighth And Ninth Grade Year, Was Thinking Of While She Studied A Horse-Shaped Pictograph Under A Boy Who Was A Bit Older, With Brown Hair And Eyes And Who Liked Cars, Who Burst Inside The Girl, Unleashing Bits Of Things And Other Things That Would Become Me, Already Unwanted. Or Maybe The Girl Was Thinking Of The Little Bighorn Monument Where They Had Guzzled Wine Coolers Earlier While Treading The Same Ground Where General George Armstrong Custer Breathed His Last Wicked Breath At The Hands Of Brave Lakota, Northern Cheyenne, And Arapaho Warriors Whose Ghosts The Girl Thought She Could Sense Snaking Through The Bear Grass And Old Graves, And Maybe It Is Because Of These Things That Even Now, 36 Years Later, I Love Horses And Justness And Fireworks And Stories", acrylic and pencil on panel, 2017, 24x30”

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