There is a waitress with yellow hair who reminds him of me, a country girl—woman really, older than she first seems—and he asks her what time her shift finishes, and he’s there waiting. They walk through the night. He folds her over like paper in a dark alley. The sweet bad smell of the bins nearby. She says yes, she says no, she says nothing. Her heart spills out redly onto her blouse, her blouse remains immaculate white. He marries her, he never sees her again, there’s a small moon-faced child with his shock of dark hair, he leaves nothing behind, and he can’t do any of this if he’s in a
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