At the Busted Flush Motel
"You got a memory for faces, sugar?" How she stares!
"I think so, yes." Her smile splits like the crack of doom.
Peroxide pales her improbable pile. That beehive hair's
like something Boris Karloff might exhume.
"That's kinda fortunate, y'see, becuz there's
no freakin' mirror in your room."
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