Emboldened by her guardian angel’s heavy motorcycle jacket, Kimi skipped “a good time” at Ranch Bar and drove straight to Whispers Tavern: “DIVE, fights, skanky.” Just before midnight, the bars were bulging with grease-stained men eager to spend their hard-earned oil money.
Kimi veered into the parking lot behind Whispers just in time to see a tumble of drunken dogs roll out the back door, fists flying. She waited in her pickup until some kitoki, prairie chicken, was lying unconscious on the pavement and the others were stumbling back into the bar.
kitokiStomach in knots, she opened the back door and slipped into the dive. Inside, the dark dank joint pulsated with masculinity, a liquored-up rodeo of cowboys, roustabouts, and painted ladies. Trying to remain invisible, Kimi glided along t
