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4. Two-thirds of a world away, a western boy staggers through weeds so thick they claw against his boots. Out of the corner of his eye something flaps and is blue. He remembers ribbons he used to win back home: thick royal folds pinned on by the County to reward the heifer with the most cream, the cleanest stall. Something is whining at his back. Something 
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stings and flows across his ear. Then he sees red, white, then he begins to run so fast it feels like falling. 5. She locks the door and leans against it. Creases the pale telegram between her lips. Doesn't care when the ink stains. Plays the Allman Brothers so loud it drowns out anyone pounding on the other side.  |
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