She weren't no lady, and I could tell. She
had a Bob Dylan sticker on her inner
thigh, and a line from Leonard Cohen
on her eyelid when she closed it. I
sensed psoriasis too, and plenty of
other stuff. Weasels ate my flesh.
Where'd I hear that before?
The lay of the land - that's usually
a geography term but that was what
she was called. And I should have
known. Two days before Halloween,
and I'm shucking shells where
oysters should have been. 'You
really complement me,' I said.
She didn't understand, and I
let it go at that.