But she just busted in there, strutting by all the drunk men playing pinball and shooting pool. All the drunk men stared, and there was a swarthy chorus of What the fuck is that What the fuck is that, and Justine just laughed and kept walking as if she was in a palace and heading for her raised and dazzling throne.

I wouldn’t have missed that scene for anything.

It was like a movie I’d always wanted to see.

I leaned back against the doorway, watching to see what she would do next.

She pressed her body against the bar. I’d given her twenty dollars; she threw the money down.

The bartender shook his head; she ignored him. She put her arm around the bus driver drowning his sorrows at the bar. She whispered in his ear, took off his navy cap, and placed it crooked on her hair. He seemed like a nice guy, the bus driver; I think he even reached over and lifted her dress back to cover her naked shoulder. I thought he would probably want to help her leave this town.

The walls of the tavern spun.

I was laughing so hard I fell down on the floor. I lost my gravity.

Some biker told me I was too young to be at the King’s and I should leave.

I raised my head to tell him to fuck off, and that’s when I saw Dirk.

Edmundo, he doesn’t knock. He just walks in and looks at the blank page on the notebook he’s given me. “Five minutes,” he says.

When he’s gone again, I just stare at the police report. I draw a line through Lily Lesage’s and Charmaine Campbell’s names and above the words theater students, I write IDIOTS. It’s not what I want to say. But this must be my fatal flaw. When I most want to get it together, I just fuck it up. I fuck it up so stupidly.

On Yates Street, Justine staggered up to me. Under the streetlight, she hugged me so hard I could feel her hipbones. Close to her, under the sick, stale glow, I saw a burn mark in her black cloth, a bruise on her neck. Her hands were empty, but I no longer cared about getting some guy to drive us to the ferry.

Dirk had looked so different in the King’s. He was wearing a plaid shirt, with the sleeves rolled up high, like he was some muscly, macho logger. When the waitress touched his empty glass, he’d slapped her hand and glared at her like she was the original thief.

Look, I said, I’ve got to go home. I’ve got to take my medicine.

She said she wanted to go into the alley. She said she wanted to give me some gift.

So, we ran into the alley. There was no one around.

I just remember being in that alley and feeling something kicking up in my heart. My heart hurt as I looked at her.