It almost happened to me.I supposed that this war was no different to the previous one.“My apologies, Madam, I didn’t realise,” I began dismissi...ely. But then the little mousey girl turned on her smile and those bright, evenly spaced white teeth were unmistakably the ones I had seen in my office yesterday. Only that time they had been surrounded by ruby red lipstick, now her lips were insipid, a plain pale pink.“You!” I exclaimed.“Indeed, Mr Onslow ... Edgar, it is I,” she grinned, still using. Come on, I said, grabbing her hand. I laughed when I saw she had driven the Montclair. I drove down Main Street and felt like I had been gone for years, instead of five months. After being able to spend time in Chicago, this town felt so small. It was March 1967, it was cold as a witchs tit, with some fresh snow. Instead of driving right home, I drove out near the lake so I could have few more minutes with my girl. Her lips tasted so good and if it hadnt been so damn cold, I would have been. I nodded at the waitress, “Hit me.”Artie ate slowly, precisely, just like Daddy does. Maybe it’s a cop thing.He said, “Your boy. Arthur Flanders lives in a nursing home, a pretty decent one. St. Catherine on South Muskego Avenue. I called over there. He’s in decent shape, usual problems for a man in his 80s. But he wasn’t a smoker, social drinking only. No drugs.”Vanessa said, “A peach. Fucking pedophile.”I flashed on Walker for a moment, then brought myself back to Al’s Diner.Artie looked at. As I soon found out, the works are a lot more intensive than justgetting my hair, nails and makeup done. It was slightly uncomfortableas my eyebrows were threaded, but the strangest part of the experiencewas the false eyelashes being glued to my regular ones. In seconds, Ihad a heaviness on my eyes that felt completely different than anythingI'd ever felt. I guess I got lost in my own reflection, blinking andwatching the false eyelashes fluttering because I felt a sharp tap onmy shoulder from.
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