Sometimes he sees her at the Red Rocket where he writes and does his crosswords. She’ll come...

Sometimes he sees her at the Red Rocket where he writes and does his crosswords.  She’ll come in, wipe her boots.  Then she’ll go to the counter and bullshit with the waitress a little.  Most of the time, they’ll have her order waiting for her.  A large styrofoam shell with the name SUZE written in marker across the top.  She’s older— sunburnt at the neck and cheeks with long black hair.  On her right hand one of her fingers is missing, cut off below the knuckle.  It isn’t much:  five, ten minutes of his day— but in that time, he cannot stop thinking about how badly he wants to sleep with her.  Once he bumped into her as he was coming in and she was leaving.  She held the door open and he mumbled thanks, and as he passed he could smell the leather on her jacket.  One evening after finals, he and some of his friends from night school drove out to the canyons with a case of skunky beer.  One of them had brought along this girl— a high schooler whose brother he knew.  In the backseat, they drank the beer and laughed and told jokes to each other.  Then they pulled off the road.  They rolled spliffs and drank some more of the beer and did things to each other.  When it was his turn he got on trunk and braced his feet against the bumper.  He put his head back and it made him feel sick.  There were stars and planets, all of them spinning crazily.  Inside the car, he could hear his friends cheering him on.  The girl, however was silent.  He sat up a little and tried to make out the expression on her face, but it was too dark.  He could see her hair moving.  He lay back down, his stomach roiling.  I am not a good person, he said.  The girl stopped.  What?, she asked.  He lay there, not speaking.  The cold was seeping into him.  Did you say something?  He shut his eyes.  No, he said.  Not a fucking word.