Exene is Ryan. Her hair pulled away from her face in a haphazard ponytail. Her eyes puffy and bloodshot from tears. Without a mask of dirty blond hair to hide behind, her face is vulnerable, exposed like a naked bottom. Yet this face is also stern and determined.
Exene holds one of Neil’s heavy work boots in each hand, standing over him as he sleeps like an indolent king beneath the tacky gold comforter of a cheap motel bed. His boots like gold, like the key to a jail cell. Without his boots, she believes, he cannot run after her; he cannot stop her as she flees. She gazes at his face, wanting to remember his rough, unshaven mien—a final glance at some macabre scene, never to be viewed again.
She walks on tiptoe headed for the door, the boots providing necessary equilibrium, balancing he
