They drove up to the estate, their car dented and smoking. They set their watches forward one hour. Cleaning the roof would have to wait.
“Mathematically speaking,” she said, “it’s better to ask for permission than to ask for forgiveness.”
The nearby crows wouldn’t shut up. The cawing matched the relentless rhythm of their own senseless argument.
It was impossible to unzip the bag with all that hair tangled in the teeth.
She claimed the frequent trips to the quarry had nothing to do with the orphans. Rocky soil collected on the floor of the vehicle.
The broken down detective arrived at the swamp grumbling, a bottle of bourbon in one hand, a megaphone in the other.
The light behind the gas station flickered, menacingly. He said the bathroom was back here, but all you see are discarded exam gloves and angry iguanas.
She handed him a hot cup of coffee and a sweater made from their hair.
Shouting was close behind the truck, cardboard cutouts were knocked down willy-nilly, she said nothing would ever be the same again.
When we get into town, remember, the suitcase was never ours. We were at the circus. We were nowhere near the docks.“
Susan brusquely pulled the mirror out of her purse and held it up to his face. “See? No soul.”
They met in the back where the sounds of the lounge singer covered up their conspiratorial machinations.
He spent all his time around the station, fiddling with an umbrella, watching each train with a desperate look.
Kief smoke hovered around the tables and the steady clacking sound of game pieces was a kind of international code.
When they knocked on the door she ignored it then turned on all the appliances and started dancing.