Graveyard Shift

by M.L. Rio

“I think the Friar jumped right out of his robe,” he observed, flashing his straight white teeth at Tuck. “Who’s not dead yet?” “You’re lucky not to be,” Tamar said darkly. “Nine lives,” Theo said, lighting up with the Zippo in his pocket. “And at least three left.”

For the last decade it had been her only constant companion. Friends and lovers came and went, but the Toyota was forever.

She had a soft spot for Tamar, mushy and tender as a bruise on an overripe peach. She hated liking people.