My elbow was propped up on the sill, and my hair was a tangled mess. Jenks was on the rearview mirror, his wings flat against his back to keep them from being torn to tatters. Ivy was driving. We were an hour out of St. Louis, and no one was happy. I would have asked Ivy if she’d mind if I rolled...
His face scrunched up and the cold pinched his newly shaven face as he looked over the full lot to the tall, somewhat ornate building with its theater marquee and unused ticket booth. In its beginnings, Gateways had been a burlesque theater sandwiched between a brothel and slaughterhouses until a...