Nancy

3:15 a.m.

 

Stopped at a red light.

 

Mickey yells, “Chinese fire drill!”

 

Mick, Don, and Phil tear around the
Bomb, climbing in on the passenger’s side.
Now Ziggy’s behind the wheel, trying
to steer with her boobs.

 

We fishtail through an intersection
of neon liquor stores, wrought iron
windows.

 

“Isn’t Skid Row near here?” Ziggy says
while Phil nibbles my neck.

 

Mickey crushes his beer can,
“Fuckin’ A!”