a killing in the hills
The lips of people who do this. Then sipping.
Then blow again.
Jesus, Kara thought.
A bunch of losers.
Watching them make her feel, in every restless corner of her seventeen-year-old --year-
The old body, much better than these withered fools and their poor little ritual, was sure it would show;
She was quite sure that her contempt was obvious and came out of her skin with a slight shimmer. The late-
The morning sun came in from the floorto-
The ceiling glass wall makes everything look clearer, clearer and the edges stronger.
You can\'t hide things here.
She will remember this moment all her life.
Because that\'s the mark. The line.
Because at this point, she will later realize that the three old people have only less than a minute.
One of them must have been joking because now both of his friends are laughing.
Kara thought, it sounds like a fidgety horse. it\'s a height.
Nasal, nasal, nasal
They all dragged their feet under the table with appreciation.
They are flaky.
Also bald, there may be no mainland, impotence, incoherent, and the rest. So what’s left?
That\'s what Kara thought.
After you hit forty, fifty, and sixty, what\'s the point?
Kara leaned forward, her thin elbow propped up on top of her own small plastic table, pushing a curved straight dark hair up with the heel of her right hand.
Her other hand held her chin.
Her nose is itchy.
In fact, everything went well.
Including her thoughts.
This place is called salty Doug.
This is a regional chain store that sells hamburgers and chips, milkshakes and malt wine with ham or chicken and gravy on the biscuits: Red-eye or sausage.
But it doesn\'t sell hot dogs, at least this stupid name makes sense, a kind of unglamorous, illogical thing, whenever Kara comes here, sliding into a crappy plastic chair that is bolted to the greasy floor drives her crazy.
She will never waste her time in this place if it is not necessary, and she always wants to know why someone is willing to come here.
Then she remembered.
If you are an old fart, they will give you a discounted coffee. That\'s how you left.
There\'s a reason you\'re alive.
A dime for your damn coffee. Freaks.
What Kara is ashamed of is the random flashing threat in her mind, like a street gang that turns on the switch.
She knew she was a ruthless bitch.
But they\'re just thinking, okay?
She never speaks rude words out loud.
However, she found it boring, and speculation about the old fart was an entertainment.
In order to get a better look, without being completely obvious, she let her head lazily lean on one side at will, as if a flower suddenly became too heavy, its stems have been closed while keeping the chin in the center of the palm.
Now the old people laugh again.
They opened their mouths too wide and she could see some of their teeth dirty with a strange green yellow color --
Brown, looks like the color of the lettuce she sometimes finds behind the fridge, the one her mom bought and then forgets.
Carla shuddered to think that it was a strange and pleasant aversion, the official color of the old man\'s teeth.
She doesn\'t know any of them.
Or she has.
All the old people look the same, right?
Like the old towns she lives in
Acker\'s Gap, West Virginia, or Kara and her friends prefer to call it \"a place everywhere \"--
They are all old people.
There are old farts that can be exchanged.
It\'s just another bad fact that she has to face in a bad life, on her way to a worse future.
Her thoughts were tilted like this all morning, inclined to disgust and despair, and the constant proximity of the disgusting old man in the salty aisle was one of the reasons.
Another reason is that her mother is late to pick her up. Again.
Kara was very angry.
They agreed on the 11 th. M.
It is now 11: 47.
There was no sign of a good mother, nor did she answer her phone.
Carla Elkins was forced to sit here, refill her Diet Coke for free, play with her fries and take them out of the red cardboard cabinet one by one, pile them up like salty Lincoln Logs.
Build a wallA fort, maybe.
A greasy little castle.
She had her nails done at Le Salon the day before, black nail polish-
She now picks up another French fries and the other, while her other hand continues to hold her chin --
Looks darker compared to washed
The beige color of each tight french fry.
Her mother hates black nail polish, which is why Kara chose this nail polish.
She is not crazy about it herself, but if it annoys her mother, she will make sacrifices.
From The Gap community resource center in Acker, salty Doug is on the street.
Everybody called it RC.
This is a long, square, flat one.
A rooftop dump in a place with huge plates-
The glass window is cut into three sides of the yellow brick.
One person once told Kara that RC was Ford\'s dealer millions of years ago.
This is the gap for you with the Acker: everything was once something else.
Nothing fresh or different. Ever.
She had to put up with her court.
On Saturday morning, from 8: 00 to 10: 30, an authorized youth anger management seminar was held in RC, during which the consultant would ask each of them how they felt around the circle.
KARA wants to say, my feeling is, it\'s a crappy
Have a Saturday morning. But she didn’t.
Usually, when it was her turn, she just slipped a little forward on the little wheel of the chair, a little back, staring at her black nails mumbling, I, um, it feels a bit confusing inside.
Her friend, Lonnie Prince, once told her that adults wanted to hear something like this so they could nod their heads and look at all those who care and show that they remember how hard it was to be a teenager, even though it was like thousands of years ago.
Counselors always fire them at 10: 30. On the dot.
He doesn\'t want to spend more time with them than they want to spend a minute with him.
Half an hour later, her mother should pick her up in the salty road.
Her mother\'s office is on the street, in the county court and she is working this Saturday so it is a good plan.
Except her mother was late. Again.
Screaming through the room.
Kara got a fright and her finger twitched, which in turn caused her to tear down a whole wall of the French fish Fort.
Her head whipped for a moment.
A little girl and a man
Kara thought, the father of the child must be like this, because they look very similar. both of them are very broad and crowded --
Look at the nose and stickStraight, dirtyblond hair—
Sitting across from a booth in the corner.
The little girl screamed and hit the table with a pair of fat pink fists, throwing her head back and forth.
At the same time, the father rolled up his white shirt sleeves, revealing a pair of furry forearm, leaning against the table, holding a piece of chicken biscuit in his hand, and most of the yellow wrapping paper was removed.
His face was frozen in a hopeful, kind of crazy-looking smile.
But that girl
She\'s four, maybe five.
I ignored him and just kept screaming and shaking my head.
Blonde hair is stuck in two bright oozing tubes with her nose spouting.
Father panicked, confused, and desperate.
Kara speculated that he must be a divorced father.
It must be some asshole who saves some kids time on the weekend.
He\'s obviously a rookie. An amateur.
He makes a growling voice, trying to do something, anything that can stop the fierce roar.
Give it up, dude.
She knows all the parts.
Time dad wants to make up for everything in salty Doug\'s few hours on Saturday morning.
She could have written a manual. Offered tips.
She could have told the bastard that he started opening chicken cookies for his daughter and blew it up.
Forever, forever, forever.
The more hurt the little girl is, the more eyes are blindfolded by the divorce, and the more she wants to do anything by herself from now on.
This is survival instinct.
She is training.
Prepare for the day when dad\'s dearest no longer appears.
Kara\'s attention returned to three old men.
They\'re still laughing and still making those horrible old-man-
The voice of laughter is like a whining --scratch.
One of them uses his brown back.
Found a hand patting by his sickening tears
Look a runny nose
After the tap, he looked up and looked at the hand as if he wanted to know how he got it wet.
She saw three old men in black jackets laughing, with their mouths open and pleats on their faces.
She saw them savoring their little jokes.
And then she saw them die.
When Kara got a fright and let go of the fries in her hand --
She rebuilt Fort French from scratch.
Three old men left.
A small table lying on the beige, beating the coffee.
The blood is mixed with coffee, flowing from the side.
The friend sitting on his left was knocked out of his seat by the power of the bullet, then lay on the floor, face up, his eyes and nose were replaced by pink and gray creases.
The third old man was sitting in a chair shaking backwards, and his arms stretched out to both sides.
He had a small portion of his forehead.
Kara turned to the door. She saw—
She thought she saw it.
The blur of an arm, like in the film, with a thriving, wild arc, dramatic, at the end of the arm, a dark gray Ridge chip, A sharp metal, a dull gray, with no shine, her eyes shifted and she saw --
She thought she saw it.
Kara thought, a thin face, two small eyes, one pig eye, looked like a pig\'s eye, pink, very small, and the arm swept back.
Another crazy blur, the glass double door slaps back and forth in the ever-decreasing s sound.
Then the door is still there.
Now, other customers are aware of what has just happened.
This is when the scream starts.