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52 Roadside Motel She is different when he awakens. She faces the window, wearing only the silver boots she bought in Amarillo. She has taken up smoking. The cafe outside fills with truckers. A dusting of snow has stuck in clumps of yucca, and flakes gust across the interstate against a row of peaks. It’s unlike her to stand at a window naked. He enjoys it. He tries to lay her across the bed to do what she was too tired for last night. She says it’s late and they need to get moving. She watches the mountains and smokes. Diesels thunder down the grade, turbochargers wailing. ...

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