Sarah lent me this book. She said, "It's about New Mexico! It's out of print!" I really like it. It's like a relationship tapestry. In the desert. With divorce and dancers.
"There are puddles in the worn asphalt of the parking lot. The puddles hold embers that are really the last few lit windows of the building behind Mia, reflections reduced to the size of matchbooks, the light squared off in panes and floating in the cold water. Usually Mia loves coming out late from the building, but not tonight. Her Mustang is the only car left in the parking lot. Suddenly she is really frightened, although she knows the Rats will appear at any moment, wearing their matching motorcycle jackets, Theo's hand tucked into Edmund's pocket, because after a fight they are always twice as charming, to each other and to whomever they happen to come across. The long black gas tank and the shallow leather saddle of their BMW motorcycle gleam beneath a streetlight. Mia thinks she sees something move, just behind the motorcycle; she sucks in her breath and waits. 'Fire!' you're supposed to scream, 'Fire!' Even if you're about to be raped, because that makes people come more quickly&mdash'Fire!' A quick, economical lie. People come. Everyone states that is if this were a fact; when she thinks about it, she's heard it all her life. She lets out her breath and tries to breathe deeply, evenly, a dancer's breathing. Christ, she thinks. I've been getting jumpy lately. Living alone can ruin your life."