How Much It Never Happened
Black. Black as night. Black-hearted bastard.
BUMP.
Tamara’s teeth clicked together as the card table in the kitchen dropped off the chunk of baseboard shoved under one leg to keep it level. Her eyes popped open and she gagged, suddenly aware she was being smothered by the stench of fast-food grease oozing out of her McDonald’s staff shirt sleeves. She jerked her head up off her folded arms, which she had been using as a pillow. The bleary numbers on the oven clock read 11:32 PM. She hadn’t dozed off for very long.
