the night has a thousand eyes she goes to the rail car diner on Route 1 when she needs to think. It serves American comfort food favorites but the waitress Sam, has nails box- jobbed raw as dog bones & the man in the next booth checks his phone, the window the door, the sedans pulling up dry-gulched in dark fat clips of rain. The night has a thousand eyes, she wants to tell him, each more prying than the last. Her husband painted hers with a stiff jab every time he came home from the strip, the secret beyond the door only a secret if you can’t follow the plot. She knew the game, got a raw deal, a bad deck loaded dice, doesn’t matter what you call it because now she needs to think about getting rid of a body. She eases off the sun cheaters & rolls booth boy a hooded wink. ‘This place has great pie.’ He’s guilty & down for anything. drive, just drive rifle the boiler, tip the bucket on a thin black eyebrow of road pigstick the tarmac, rip the iron drive, just drive don’t stop to count the rhino bent car, burn powder past the Bowladrome, the creep joint fog the flivver, pickpocket the asphalt, drive drive, just rifle the boiler, make the border before we’re filled with daylight if it’s a crime story the chambermaid finds her in a heart-shaped hot tub pills tic- tac the floor & a red hair dryer floats the dead calm a safety deposit box stashed in a Greyhound Bus locker holds the key to her identity his cash, jewels something old new borrowed blue not the listless gray pulling a switch over the Poconos where a woman who’s not in a crime story comes to a dying honeymoon resort to mourn the end of her marriage then the telephone rings. there is something she is forgetting. nobody was supposed to get hurt.
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