Joey — 1997 //free\\

He pried it open with a tire iron. Inside: a cracked Polaroid of a boy who looked exactly like him—same cowlick, same gap-toothed grin—but wearing baggy jeans and a Spawn T-shirt. Beneath the photo, a handwritten letter:

"Don't go to the fair."

At the top, the slide twisted into darkness. Joey hesitated, then let go. joey 1997

He slid for too long. Minutes. Hours. The mirrors on either side didn’t show his reflection—they showed other Joeys. A Joey with a black eye. A Joey holding a gas can. A Joey crying in a parked car, 1997 written on the license plate. At the bottom, he landed in a pile of dried leaves and ticket stubs from a summer fair decades old. He pried it open with a tire iron