Midnight Somewhere Lucia Finkelstein
“What brings you to Omaha,” the man named Phil asks Like one of those old timey taxi drivers in movies he is looking at me through the rear view mirror. He has green eyes and missed a spot shaving this morning— Both these things stick out like a sore thumb. Even under the somber geometric shadows cast back through the car window I can’t help staring at the nucleus patch of greying hairs under his chin. He tells me that his daughters like strawberry ice cream From that place down the block. But it’s closed tonight because the owner’s dog passed away and she’s busy planning the funeral. His daughters are sad, he says The dog’s name was Gracie. Nepalese Street Food 2 Go Saturday Hours: 2pm-12am I wait for my order in the sports bar next door; It smells like onion rings and loveless marriages and tender pats on the back
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