“Do you think I’m beautiful, Horace?”
“Duuuh, *I’m* not Horace,” she imagines the graffiti face behind her saying in a fumbling, bumbling voice.
“Sure you are. And you play drums. Just like me.”
“Deeer, *no* you don’t.”
“Sure I do. Ever heard of a little album called ‘Demon Days’? Check it out. Drums, guitar, singing, you name it. I can do it all, Horace on the wall behind me. I’m *brilliant*. Just look me up in New Mexico.” But then she knew not to say more about that angle.
“Duuur, Mexico?”
“Close, very close,” she decides to answer cryptically. “Anthony,” she pinpoints a fake location, on the opposite side of the state from where she was thinking before. Touching Mexico, yes, but actually in NM and TX both, a 3 ‘n 1 she could hide in 4 years if needed. She knew the dual city would confuse and confound the less nimble brained Horace if he did any follow up research, which was doubtful anyway (she continues to imagine).
“Deee–”
The me in front of 2nd Phase Noodle breaks in here to reminds her that she needs to cut her bangs to see better, no matter how cool this early look be.
—–
There?
Sunklands 