Page 384 of Fallout (Crank 3)

---

it’s worth it. Being with you like this?

Fire’s low. Come on. He has already

rolled out the sleeping bags in the back

of the truck. We climb in, and under

a meadow of stars, my cowboy ravages me.

BIRDSONG WAKES ME

Loud birdsong. A regular death metal

concert of birdsong, in fact. I keep

my eyes closed, snuggle into my bed.

Hard bed. A waterfall of light. Outside.

Sleeping bag. Cold metal beneath me.

And I am alone. I jump into a sitting

position, quieting the avian cacophony.

A flutter of wings. “Kyle? Where are you?”

An acrid drift of tobacco assaults

my nose just as I hear, Over here.

He squats to one side of the fire pit,

trying to resurrect the dead embers.

Smoking. God. Cigarettes are, like,

seven bucks a pack. He needs to

kick that habit, and quickly. I slide

from the warmth of the sleeping bag,

into frosty December morning.

Go over to give him a kiss, steeling

myself against the stench of smoke.

But another, more insidious smell

leaks from his pores, despite

the cold. “Did you do crystal?”

His eyes, onyx-pupiled and crimson-

rimmed, are all the answer I need.

---