Accidentally taking angels skating through hell
︎︎︎ Bauhausfrau
︎ Jan 27, 2026
The end of history can be found at your local skate rink. Come armed. Don't you remember a broken metal detector welcoming guests to your own macaroni commercial? Neither will the watchers now, surveying the South American prison portal swallowed by dirt-caked Memphis squiggles. Jungle law ensnares feral child and visitating parent alike, jostling for space and stolen PVC pipe training wheeler as a DJ affects a blaccent to play radio-edited vulgarity. Don't forget to rent communal skates. Yeast proliferates. Foreign partygoers and ours too pack into the "birthday room" cellblock without windows or tables or hope—only a ledge with three personal pan pizzas and small paper cups with lukewarm water. The super skater party package does not include the stacks of institutional brown paper towels to cradle cuts of an imported boutique cake for the little thrones who will devour them. But you will find a way. Be gracious. Think about America and pretend it is fine. The angels say they’re not having fun. This does not happen. A little imp asks for food money near the skate return. We will have much to answer for in the tradvan.
Bauhausfrau is a writer living in the South with her husband and several young children.