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Aileen Aileen stands on the gravel shoulder of county road number 15 she looks the part, leather miniskirt, red halter top. A mauve peterbilt pulls up next to her like a boat floats up to a dock. A guy with a dusty ball cap rolls down the window. He waves her over, she steps up. They get in the back of the cab empty molson cans, a few packs of players a cheap blow job he gets a little too rough Aileen fumbles for her purse, for something in her purse. The gun, cold, errupts twice, hits him in the stomach. She searches his wallet, grabs two c-notes dives into the forest-is gone. Adam Tod Leverton