Like someone’s rec room, Alison thought, cheerful and mundane, trying to fool us into thinking that we’re home and comfortable, that everything will be okay. It would be more honest if they made it look like a dark alley, or if they made it rain. She tried to explain this to Sarah, but fatigue played havoc with her words. “You aren’t making any sense,” Sarah said. “I know. I don’t even know why I said it.” “But I know how you mean,” Bill said. “Does anyone mind, please, just shutting up for now?” Sarah said. She wadded a tissue in her hands. “Ali, go home and sleep.” Except for her quick nap that morning, she actually hadn’t slept since the night before she drove to Morgantown. Already, this day—the one that had started out so brightly at the parade—was edging into dusk, the fluorescent lights up and down the hall taking on weight as the light through the windows dimmed. Lack of sleep became a buzzing, popping thing centered somewhere behind her eyes, which felt scalded and dry.
What do You think about Alison's Automotive Repair Manual (2003)?
