there is this light. a searing slice of white that cuts through the night. i sit upright in bed. an idiot wind blows outside. the phone rings. its martha from accounting. "i have the numbers," she whispers soft as a cloud and just as tangible. "i'll need you to come down to the office right away." the office is on blendman street across from an abandoned bowling alley. i dress and hail a taxi. the driver wears his hair in a pony tail. "where to?" "blendman. across from toro lanes." we drive into the night. the meter running. traffic lights changing. then she is there. a glimpse in the window. a thud as she rolls across the hood. head hitting glass. a cobweb of fractured light and blood. crackling ice. the driver hits the breaks. says: "jesus christ. just what i need." and we get out. she lies in the stage set city. a prop carelessly discarded. she is an asian woman. under forty. there is blood dripping from her right ear. a bruise on her cheek. lipstick smeared. something dark pooling behind her head. apartment lights flicker on. silhouettes appear. her chest rises and falls silently. already sirens are coming. i dial the office on my cell. tell martha from accounting i won't be in. she sounds disappointed. i hang up. the driver shuts off his meter. and we wait.
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