Walls of tin that someone convinced people were homes fade behind me, blurred by the fogged mirror and the frozen window I didn\u2019t bother to scrape. It\u2019s ice beneath me, not slush like it was this morning. My car isn\u2019t equipped for it, especially in the pitch black, but it hasn\u2019t been for the last few years and I\u2019ve been fine.<\/p>\n
No point in getting a new car if you aren\u2019t going nowhere, <\/em>he says. \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n I\u2019m out of the trailer park and down Main Street soon, driving slowly enough to get passed by high schoolers in pick-ups but not too fast to avoid being stopped by the cop on 4th<\/sup> Ave. I recognize him as he scans my ID. Ethan Bjornson. He graduated with us but says nothing resembling recognition. He tells me to take it easy, that the roads are slick, and lets me go without a ticket.<\/p>\n You probably liked the attention, huh? <\/em>he says. Such a slut. <\/em><\/p>\n I keep driving, passing one lake and thirty-three houses. I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. I do not look like someone who belongs in one of these homes.<\/p>\n Put some makeup on, <\/em>he says, or I\u2019ll give you something to cover up. <\/em><\/p>\n Snow begins to fall, chunks crystallizing in the frigid air only to be stolen away by the wind. None stick to my windshield. I wish something would, maybe just one flake, so I could see some intricacy and beauty before turning around.<\/p>\n Come home right away, bitch, <\/em>he says. I better not hear you went out after work. <\/em><\/p>\n My car begins to slide toward the water\u2019s edge. I hit the brakes, but it\u2019s ice beneath me, not slush like it was this morning.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Walls of tin that someone convinced people were homes fade behind me, blurred by the fogged mirror and the frozen window I didn\u2019t bother to scrape. It\u2019s ice beneath me, not slush like it was this morning. My car isn\u2019t equipped for it, especially in the pitch black, but it hasn\u2019t been for the last […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":17893,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-17813","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-lilia-anderson"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17813","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=17813"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17813\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":17814,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17813\/revisions\/17814"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/17893"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17813"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=17813"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=17813"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}