Twenty-three minutes ago, Elmer propped stools in the yard. Earlier, he’d shoveled a ditch and plugged it with junk mail, receipts and soup cans. Seconds ago, Elmer sat beside Mrs. Lolly and tossed a match as they watched the blaze feed on garbage.
It’s six-thirty now, and Elmer is smoking. Mrs. Lolly sips blackberry brandy.
He says, “Pinky won’t answer me.” He unspools a clump of toilet paper, pitching it to the flames. “What’ll she do when we have to leave?”
“Well, Pinky ain’t got no choice. She’s gotta get out. We all do. And I’ll tell her so.”
no“Don’t talk so loud. She might hear you. What if her window’s open?”
Mrs. Lolly clucks her tongue, exclaiming, “I could give two shits. Pinky gots to listen!”
Elmer slugs on a Meister Brau. “She can’t leave. Can’t. And there’s nowhere to
