Fallout (Crank 3)

hold on to.

CAN’T SAY IT’S “NICE” INSIDE

But it isn’t horrible. My nose

says so. It smells of cinnamon

apple room freshener—fake

but not bad. You couldn’t call

the place neat, but it isn’t dirty.

Everything shrieks “seventies.”

Red/purple shag carpet. Thick

velour drapes. Linoleum in

the hall (and, no doubt, kitchen

and bathrooms). Dated. Used.

I notice all this without stepping

foot through the door. Too many

people in the way right now.

Ms. Shreeveport has to work

her way past a short, too-perky

blonde and a bear-sized, bear-

colored man. Brown hair.

Brown skin. Brooding brown

eyes. George Clooney,

he ain’t. Wonder who he is.

FINALLY, I’M IN

Introductions are passed round.

Blonde, with a loopy smile.

Hi, Summer, I’m Tanya.

Bear remains quiet, so Shreeveport

says, And this is Mr. Clooney.

Bear finally opens his curtain

of silence, corrects, Call me Walter.