MicroHorror

Marv scrunched up his nose at the smell. “Must be one of those trucks headed for the dog food factory,” he said to Jimmy, who was driving. They could see a semi about a quarter mile ahead of them. “Hurry up and pass it!”

As they pulled alongside the truck haunted eyes stared out through the holes in the trailer. Bony fingers and hands reached out toward them. Mouths issued pleas they couldn’t understand. A sign on the cab’s door read “Official Government Business.”

Marv chuckled. “Your tax dollars at work.”

Jimmy snickered and shook his head. “Fuckin’ illegals.”