A bearded man in Lees hitched high by thick canvas suspenders and wearing a striped shirt in the collarless Old West style pedaled across the highway, his mount a dusty mountain bike in rather feminine hues. The woman pumping gas saw him coming through the eyes in the back of her head.

"That your new woman?"

"Aw, you're the only woman for me!"

"I've seen you out there cattin' around," she posited.

If he said anything, we didn't hear it and she didn't acknowledge it. He circled once more and then rode off back across the highway the way he came.

She dipped the squeegee and lifted the wipers and then stretched herself across the hood. A ballcap shaded her eyes and nose and sequestered her hair behind her ears. She looked small in the oversized worksuit. A patch with a name on it lay bright over her left breast, but the script was illegible and the name belonged more to the overalls than to the person wearing them.

She looked at us through the glass. "Town player," she added, giving us the full spread of empty plots where teeth used to be.