Authors: Thomas Laird
‘I gues
s
s
o.
’
I
orde
r
he
r
anothe
r
doubl
e
tequil
a
withou
t
askin
g
he
r
firs
t.
On
e
mor
e
round’l
l
ge
t
th
e
co
y
ou
t
o
f
thi
s
cun
t
.
She’
s
gettin
g
towar
d
th
e
en
d
o
f
he
r
fligh
t
attendant’
s
caree
r,
n
o
matte
r
wha
t
th
e
airline
s
appea
r
t
o
b
e
doin
g
abou
t
ag
e
discriminatio
n.
The
y
al
l
wan
t
yout
h
o
n
thei
r
flight
s,
an
d
De
e
De
e
Tremon
t,
th
e
stewardes
s
wh
o
sit
s
o
n
th
e
stoo
l
nex
t
t
o
m
e,
i
s
heade
d
int
o
th
e
twiligh
t
o
f
he
r
caree
r.
Bu
t
she’
s
close
r
t
o
th
e
en
d
tha
n
sh
e
suppose
s
.
Sh
e
down
s
th
e
nex
t
drin
k
a
s
sh
e
ha
s
th
e
firs
t
fe
w.
Sh
e
handle
s
he
r
liquo
r
bette
r
tha
n
mos
t
wome
n
I’v
e
know
n,
bu
t
tequil
a
wil
l
hav
e
it
s
wa
y
o
n
anyon
e.
She’
s
beginnin
g
t
o
slu
r
he
r
speec
h,
jus
t
noticeabl
y.
He
r
hea
d
seem
s
t
o
sna
p
towar
d
m
e
wheneve
r
I
tel
l
he
r
anythin
g.
It’
s
onl
y
barel
y
noticeabl
e,
bu
t
it’
s
ther
e
.
‘Mayb
e
w
e
shoul
d
hea
d
o
n
ou
t
int
o
th
e
fres
h,
col
d
ai
r,’
I
sugges
t
.
Sh
e
nod
s.
It’
s
ove
r.
Tha
t
no
d
wa
s
th
e
las
t
decisio
n
she’l
l
eve
r
mak
e
fo
r
hersel
f
.
W
e
wal
k
ou
t
o
f
th
e
ba
r
an
d
ou
t
o
f
th
e
exi
t
an
d
the
n
ou
t
ont
o
th
e
stree
t.
Earlie
rI
manage
d
t
o
fin
d
a
parkin
g
spo
t
thre
e
block
s
fro
m
th
e
loung
e.
Sh
e
wobble
s
a
bi
t
a
s
I
lea
d
he
r
b
y
th
e
ar
m
towar
d
m
y
rid
e
.
‘
I wan
t
yo
u
t
o
kno
w
tha
t
I
don’
t
believ
e
you
r
bullshi
t
stor
y,’
sh
e
say
s
.
‘
Wha
t
bullshi
t
stor
y?
’
‘You’r
e
no
t
a
n
acto
r
an
d
ther
e
i
s
n
o
suc
h
televisio
n
sho
w
an
d
I
kno
w
i
t
becaus
e
I’
m
a
bi
g
fa
n
o
f
th
e
soap
s
an
d
ther
e
i
s
n
o
suc
h
goddamne
d
show ..
.
Bu
t
I
lik
e
you
r
fac
e.
Shitt
y
wi
g
an
d
al
l,
yo
u
hav
e
a
ver
y
nic
e
fac
e
..
.
Ar
e
yo
u
a
s
goo
d
i
n
be
d
a
s
yo
u
ar
e
wit
h
th
e
bullshi
t?
’
‘I’
m
bette
r.
’
‘S
o
what’
s
you
r
rea
l
nam
e?
’
‘Pete
r
Arnet
t.
’
Onc
e
I
ge
t
int
o
a
lyin
g
mod
e
it’
s
impossibl
e
t
o
sto
p
.
‘Tha
t
nam
e
sound
s
familia
r.
’
‘I’
m
a
corresponden
t
fo
r
CN
N.
’
Sh
e
stop
s
an
d
stare
s
a
t
m
e
.
‘Yo
u
..
.
you’r
e
no
t
gonn
a
tel
l
m
e
wh
o
yo
u
ar
e,
ar
e
yo
u?
’
‘The
n
th
e
mystery’
d
b
e
ove
r,
wouldn’
t
i
t?
’
‘Yea
h.
I
t
woul
d.
Oka
y,
s
o
wel
l
pla
y
i
t
you
r
wa
y.
It’
s
kin
d
o
f
a
tur
n-
o
n,
isn’
t
i
t?
Pretendin
g
t
o
b
e
someon
e
els
e
..
.
Wha
t
d
o
yo
u
sa
y
w
e
sto
p
an
d
bu
y
m
e
a
wi
g
an
d
I’l
l
b
e
Farra
h
Fawcet
t.
Yo
u
ca
n
b
e
tha
t
Rya
n
O’Nea
l—
befor
e
h
e
go
t
al
l
fa
t
an
d
puffe
d
an
d
ol
d.
’