With terrible theater Alice shakes the steering wheel inside a nitroglyc window stripped down to her nightgown, as she violates and re-discovers herself in the young strawberry hours.

Hatchback bottomed out in 15 foot surge, hounds whimper through kite dune grass, searchlights osculate, possibly out to sea.

To Alice, she was my everything, sweet darling, there is no longer anything to fear, words she’d been waiting years to hear outside a Mexican eatery obituary in hand.

She floats against white ceilings till the surgical scars flesh over.

Veronica smudged in lip wax on a San Francisco motel vanity, stands back and repeats the name in a Yucatan accent by the sausage factory where her ex-husband works.

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