You jump out of the car in the middle of the college town where you went to poetry readings with sushi and wine, where you served wings and got fired for your inability to smile, where you became a feminist and an atheist and made your mother and your boyfriend cry. Your family follows you down sunlit alleys and you feel the heat fight it out with the shadows at ten AM and you know it’s going to obliterate your makeup and your hairspray and your will to live by noon, so you steer everyone towards the bar with the tiger painted in a beer mug and order two ciders and a shot and then you are on a patio talking with your mother about your sex life, explaining how you think about it all the time but almost never with your husband even though he is great in bed like a

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