The morning is a blur. Coffee and pancakes for me. Sprite has a cigarette. At the end of the meal, she asks for my phone number. I give it on a menu. She stares at it for a while.
“Look Jackson, thanks. I mean really.”
I want to ask her a bunch of questions, but I just nod. Sparrow Sprite gets up, leaves a few bills on the table and waves goodbye. I’m frozen and just sit there watching her go. An idiot in a trance. My phone rings sometime later, breaking my stare.
“Hi Daisy.”
Daisy is my ex-wife. I would officially like to introduce her to you as the reason I’m so fucked up.
But instead I’ll tell you she’s a sweet country girl who got mixed up in heroin and pixie sticks.
Both are mostly true.
—continued

We are in a motel room twelve miles outside the city limits. I’m staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the smell of the sheets below and the blood stains on the ceiling above. Sparrow is taking a shower.
She hasn’t said a word. But she didn’t object when I suggested we get this place.
I take out my phone. No messages.
Sitting up I grab the remote to the old square TV. The news should be on.
I watch a story about pet adoption, before the real news hits. A female reporter, with bright red hair stands outside the 7-11. They have no current leads.
I flick the TV off, toss the remote aside. Look towards the bathroom, noticing the shower has stopped. I get up, knock on the door.
“Sparrow? You alright?”
I hear a whimper. I push the door open slightly and see Sparrow Sprite, naked, curled in a ball inside the off white tub. Her eyes meet mine.
Ghosts in her eyes.
——Continued