Women in cages

Blake ran the Zipper: sometimes the throttle, but mostly he locked people into the cages and let them out again when it was over. In his camper he had a whole shoebox full of crack pipes and hash pipes and so on that had fallen out of people’s pockets. He picked them out of the grass or gathered them from the cages after the people got out.

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You can owe me

he thought she would ask directions
and considered flirtatious answers
she was pretty

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Tremor

In that apartment up there a young bank clerk read an architecture glossy, and in that one across there a DJ drank Cointreau on ice with a sales clerk from the “Gap” and brushed a manicured index finger along the downy hairs of her ear until she shivered. Next door a man read a box of medicine a Chinese man had given him.

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Young Horses

“It’s painless,” Luiz said to me. “That’s the best thing about it.” He was standing in the street in front of “Buck’s” tavern at two-thirty in the morning, pressing a Saturday-night special to his right temple. “The bullet’s in your brain before you feel the pain.”

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Blood like a sunset after a sandstorm

That stapler on your desk how do you know it’s real? Touch it. You can feel it. Someone is watching you from behind your neck prickles. You can feel it. Now that we have the physics out of the way I will tell you where it usually lives: it lives in the walls.

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Suits

Pass him on the street and if you notice him at all, he’s just an average guy, forties, grey hair, likely as not in a dark suit, ambling along somewhere, in no hurry because he left at least half an hour early to get where he’s going and has plenty of time. But he has a secret.

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