She looked like an optical illusion, like a crappy trick at a third-rate magician’s afternoon show at an off-Strip casino in Vegas. She’d been bisected, split down the middle; a clean line from the top of her head, through her nose, down the cupid’s bow of her top lip, between her collarbones, all the way to her bellybutton and beyond. She’d fallen open like a split log; the two halves of her faced away from each other, staring at opposite bookshelves.
