Northstar Vale you've made a pig's ear

an image straight out of nuclear winter. the nuclear couple. leyendecker would've killed to paint them. she switches from admiration to envy and back a noise like a lighter going on and off in the brain. "astynome," she says. the spotlight is on her now. she's sweating in the eye of the misty xenon bulb.

the man asks a question straight out of a gangster film. if you close your eyes, his voice is the guy's who grinds his cigarette prematurely into the dust just for show. 

this was the real world coming to meet her out of the shell. "the same people who took my eye out. nearly." unable to look anyone in the eye. "they probably don't care about me anymore, but—" just in case. astynome and her chronic case of failure to finish sentences syndrome. you see, they're out for my parents, but the elaboration is all in her head. talking too much was to be avoided at all costs.

"i'll work for courtfall," she still stutters, a suspicious record player, but manages to look upwards. "i will never be a burden," and if i happen to become one, please kick me out. 

meshing and unmeshing her fingers together. a young businessman in what might be the job interview that makes him.