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<strong>Jack</strong> <strong>kilborn</strong> <strong>SErial</strong> <strong>blakE</strong> <strong>crouch</strong><br />
chest again. The guitar case items had dried, and she packed<br />
them away and dressed and headed out. The motel stood along<br />
the interstate, and it came down to applebee’s or chili’s.<br />
She went with the latter, because she loved their awesome<br />
blossom.<br />
after dinner, she walked outside and stared at the Subaru in<br />
the parking lot, the black rot flooding back inside of her, that<br />
restless, awful energy that could never be fully sated, those<br />
seconds of release never fully quenching, like water tinged<br />
with salt. She turned away from the Subaru and walked along<br />
the frontage road until she came to a hole in the fence. Ducked<br />
through. Scrambled down to the shoulder of the interstate.<br />
Traffic was moderate, the night cold and starry. a line of<br />
cars approached, bottled up behind a Winnebago.<br />
She walked under the bridge, set down her guitar case,<br />
and stuck out her thumb.<br />
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