Sometime last night, I’d grabbed a stiff bedspread and pillow before the girl fell asleep and was slowly waking up sore as hell. I usually tried not to think about how many body parts I’d broken, sprained, or dislocated, but mornings like this made me aware. The girl was still curled up in bed, a loose strand of blond hair in her eyes. Lips pursed. Tightly wrapped in a smooth blue blanket. Abby. Her name was Abby. Last night, I could barely get her to eat the chicken sandwich that I’d ordered from the Peabody’s room service. Kept on saying she had to go, and made it to the door twice before I convinced her to stay. I showed her my driver’s license, scattered notebooks, and even the battered cassette recorder I’d used in the Delta. I tried to make her relax and even laugh. She never did trust me. She was just beaten and scared. Absolutely no place to go. She spent the few hours before she went to sleep silently watching Letterman and then the last half of Breakfast at Tiffany’s in a worn JoJo’s Blues Bar T-shirt and pair of my Scooby Doo boxers.
What do You think about Dark End Of The Street - V4?
