Evening of the Insane

It was the kind of evening one hears of in the log of a psych ward priest. The moon making the children gray-haired, the burning bush by the parlor window playing the trick of the setting sun. Throughout the whole neighborhood it was as if an orderly had rolled out the crazies on stretchers with iron wheels. This would have been done on the down low, with someone from the morgue holding the door and glancing nervously at the office windows. Inevitably, a few would slip out of their straps and run away without any pants to sit under a bodhi tree.