It is only seven-thirty but the night is full, gloom seizing Highway 66. There is a carcass on the road, maybe a human, slumped next to an empty ice cream truck. Several stars hang up in the East, drunken constellations scrambling to find meaning.

1I don't like it when they leave the heads on.I mean it's not nice, is it.The idyllic order of the abattoir.Mary is on stunning and bleeding.She prefers evisceration.Still, the work's ok and it's her day off tomorrow.Deft hands perform their daily ballet.Mary had a…