Glendive, Montana was, without a doubt, her kind of town.
She was the noisome mother of a pregnant teenage bride.
Shortly after nine, she showed up at the poolhall. She had on a yellow sweatshirt from one of the casinos in West Wendover, Nevada. Her pool cue case was emblazoned with the image of a scorpion.
First thing she asked the manager was why the hell they still hadn’t fixed that flickering fluorescent tube over the back corner table.
