Cinder blocked white walls, the cliche tinted mirror wall, a yellowing drop down ceiling. The table was a small rectangle, something to lean an elbow...on but not hide behind. “Miss Cusack, I noticed you didn’t bring your purse. Any particular reason?” the older cop, Officer Wilson, prompted as he sat down opposite me. He crossed his leg, ankle to knee, and let his hands rest in his lap. Breath caught in my throat. The single Oxy in my possession pounded in my mind.You’re sober. A reaction. Learn to drive? No -- I couldn't do that; can't take the test, got a kind of problem with my records that's too hard to explain or straighten out so I just walk most places... not like I'm going anywhere, much, anytime, anyway...Sorry -- I get a little bitter sometimes.Nah. So -- where you from originally? Chicago? I hear it's a nice place. My brother was stationed at Great Lakes during the war. Korea, that is; he was too young for the World War.Say -- I hate to ask -- you got anything to drink. More

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