"It was terrible," said Rouse. "It was bad for me anyway -- I don't think it was all that great for him -- but for me it was very uncomfortable, especially since I was so angry."

I always imagine a good kiss to be something like crawling out of loose dirt after being buried alive. Angela runs her hand along my inner thigh as I talk to Bator, bearded and sweaty in the dish pit. “Stop slamming bus pans” he says with a lisp. Angela tells me to come out to her car during my thirty minute break so she can give me something. When I get out there she leans in through the open window of her rusted Camry and pulls out a folded piece of paper. Close your eyes, she says. I close my eyes. She hands me the paper and I unfold it. It’s a placemat colored in dull yellow, blue, and red crayon. “When the batteries begin dying in a hand clock it begins making its own time.” Larry shouts from the side door for me to get my ass back on the floor. He lights a cigarette and stares at us, waiting.