John walks through our door, grinning through his perfect teeth.

John could not possibly be screwing a woman with the face of a gerbil.

I’m the second, the Las Vegas wife, as his KU friends call me.

The mirage of this afternoon has evaporated along with my husband and his new blue Cadillac.

I think Skip likes easy, sparkly women.

I find the camera and snap a picture of John, capturing the easy, happy moment, as a souvenir.

Quaffing the lesson in sorcery, tapping his Cross pen, like a wand.

The incantation of the judge, falling sweetly to the tanned downy ears of the…

As I said, his theory boils down to A, the cops are bad; and B, the girl was crazy.

“Now, excuse me, but how bloody amorphous is all that? It’s like Wheel of Fortune Murder Edition.” I finish my third glass of red wine, dip the last of the garlic bread in the red sauce from heaven, and order…