She was on the road because she couldn’t stand the town, because she knew it wouldtear open and throw her insides on the street. I followed him as he began loping toward the edge of the city and the bluish-green radiation thatstill flickered from the hills. “ This’ s awkward enough for us, boy, don’ t make it no harder. “ How long was I down there.
From where I sat, I could see aBentley, a Thunderbird and what looked to be an Aston Martin roadster, each in its own berth, each acurrent model, each gleaming and polished. She lay there getting worse and worse, and finally, forty-five days before the green blips went toa flat line on t and arcades of downtownTijuana, it was shining, gleaming, sparkling, a reassurance that stability still existed. It was artless and graceless; it was merely data.
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