Fallout (Crank 3)

his official relationship

to me,

she added disgusting details

about her fabricated illness,

used them to make a hasty

escape. Like anyone believed her.

MEMORY LANE

Is an ugly stroll. I’m working hard

to turn the corner when Dad finally

calls, Let’s go, girls. I can hear

a big ol’ burger mooing my name.

Does he have even the faintest

idea how stupid that sounded?

Maybe not. But evidently Kortni

does. Burgers don’t moo, idiot.

Idiot. Nice. This little outing should

go well. I settle into the rotting

backseat of Dad’s decrepit Chevy

Impala. Stinks like cigarette-

tainted armpit drip. Reminds

me again of Mom. How can

she ruin every holiday (even

the ones that don’t feel much

like holidays) without even being

there? Why can’t I just forget her?

BUT SHE’S ON MY MIND

As Dad weaves down the rutted

dirt toward the highway, Kortni

chattering like an irritated crow.

Unusual, considering the amount