range
raze
in
a
strange
city
that
hasn't
yet
come
to
feel
like
home
,
she
sits
in
her
car
and
watches
a
child
nod
off
under
a
blanket
in
the
back
seat
of
someone
else's
ancient
automobile. "
the
last
time
i
talked
to
richard
,"
she
writes
in
the
book
of
her
life
, "
he
told
me
nothing
worthless
would
stay
.
so
i
stayed
,
just
to
prove
him
wrong
."
she
made
an
album
ten
or
so
years
ago
.
they
call
it
country
music
,
though
there
isn't
much
twang
in
the
tunes.
the
opening
track
features furiously strummed acoustic
guitars
plugged
in
.
the
choked quack
of
piezo pickups, savage
and
familiar
.
someone
should
have
stuck
a
microphone
or
two
in
front
of
those
things
. "
both
within
range,"
she
sings
. "
coffee
and
noon
."
i
know
what
she
means.
time
is
a
fist
with
flattened
knuckles
, busting
up
the
morning's
mouth
.
we
lick
its
lips
to
taste
how
close
we
are
to
being
gone
.
240810
what's it to you?
who
go
blather
from