{"id":8474,"date":"2014-08-01T13:04:30","date_gmt":"2014-08-01T19:04:30","guid":{"rendered":"\/nashvillereview\/?p=8474"},"modified":"2015-02-14T14:42:26","modified_gmt":"2015-02-14T20:42:26","slug":"a-beautiful-night-for-a-biscuit-truck-anne-barngrover","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/archives\/8474","title":{"rendered":"A Beautiful Night for a Biscuit Truck"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Who does well in this town where night flaunts<br \/>\nher ragged satin, her snaggletoothed mouth<br \/>\nof stars and moon? Not the processed steak<br \/>\nencased in dirty ice, nor the crocuses<br \/>\nunfurling amid street clutter. Not the rabbits,<br \/>\nthose gray disciples haloed in headlights,<br \/>\nnor the terrified buck hurling itself<br \/>\nthrough parking lots, its legacy a bloody<br \/>\nhoof print stamped into a truck\u2019s hood.<br \/>\nI never hear trains anymore. In the square,<br \/>\nthe dancer\u2019s statue dulls from lack<br \/>\nof eyes. Another night drags on, the biscuit<br \/>\ntruck\u2019s beam a satellite among the bars<br \/>\nthat spit out drunk college kids who scatter<br \/>\nlike minnows. In this town where hands<br \/>\nare too polite to roam, I remember the place<br \/>\nwhere night slashed herself on palm fronds<br \/>\nand swayed in a heat that knows the open lips<br \/>\nof a loaded gun, where the guilt I devoured<br \/>\ndripped with honey, and I clung on to whatever<br \/>\nman I loved, as if at any moment my life<br \/>\ncould be wrenched from my hands and had.<\/p>\n<h6><a href=\"\/nashvillereview\/archives\/8216\">Anne Barngrover<\/a><\/h6>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Who does well in this town where night flaunts her ragged satin, her snaggletoothed mouth of stars and moon? Not the processed steak encased in dirty ice, nor the crocuses unfurling amid street clutter. Not the rabbits, those gray disciples haloed in headlights, nor the terrified buck hurling itself through parking lots, its legacy a [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":22,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false},"categories":[17],"tags":[25],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6Jypy-2cG","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8474"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/22"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8474"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8474\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":10181,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8474\/revisions\/10181"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8474"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8474"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8474"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}