Doll Face

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It wasn’t until later that Ramona realized how neatly it all fit together. Like pieces of a die-cut puzzle, everything simply fit into place in that purely seamless and smooth sort of way that fate managed when it wanted something to happen. Or it wanted people to suffer.

Chazz was too drunk to drive by the time they hit Highway 8, only no one was saying so because although he was a real mellow, easy sort of cat when he was sober, when he was drunk, he was mean as skunk piss and if you didn’t want that spraying into your eyes, you learned to keep your mouth shut and go with the flow like a turd being sucked down a toilet.

Ramona knew all about that.

“You missed the turn-off,” Creep pointed out, getting nervous because he had to cover the morning shift at Donut Den back in the city and five a.m. came real early once you passed the midnight hour.

“I’m taking a shortcut,” Chazz told him, an edge to his voice cutting beneath his words like a razor. “So fuck off.”

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