The following excerpt from Death of an Animatronic Band was published recently by Tupelo Quarterly Press, with German translation courtesy of Eugene Sampson
She saw him sitting in the door of his motel room, half in/half out, two long legs splayed out in front of him. He looked vulnerable, wearing only underwear, and big, unlaced boots. The sun shone on his pale knees, turning them pink. She could smell his skin burning under the light — it released a special, oily perspiration that mixed with the smell of bread as he broke it open and scattered on the ground by his feet. Chipmunks and blue jays and black birds surrounded him. She smelled the sweat of his armpits as well. A hooked cane lay still by his side as though sleeping. The man kept tossing bits of bread into the parking lot. The animals clambered around his pieces. Each time he raised an arm up to toss some moist lump of food, everyone — the chipmunks, the birds, the flies, the daring field mouse — scattered out of sight.