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“Bye, Eva.”

“Good-bye, Stark,” she says.

Remember when I said I had to time this just right? I should have factored in that my body is moving slower than normal.

Before I can step into a shadow, Eva fires her pistol twice. One of the shots hits me in the stomach. I don’t step out of the room so much as fall on my face.

I DON’T FEEL a thing. If it wasn’t for all this blood I’d think an old lady bumped me with her purse on the bus. Not that I ever ride the bus.

I lie on the floor of the Room wrapping duct tape around myself until the roll runs out. It seems to take a while, but I’m not sure. Time has gone a little sideways. Space too. When I get to my feet, I try to lean on the wall but I can’t find it. I can see it, but it seems infinitely far away. I keep heading for it and, lucky for me, trip over my own feet. I find the wall with my forehead when I fall against it. That doesn’t hurt either, which just makes me laugh.

Usually I love the Room for its silence and solitude. But I don’t want to die here alone. I get to the closest door and step through it.

And come out on Hollywood Boulevard. I’m not sure if it’s still night out, but it sure seems dark. The street is pretty much deserted. The closest street sign is hard to read. It wobbles and the letters are smeared like we’re having an earthquake.

Are we having an earthquake? I know I am.

It takes a couple of minutes, but I’m pretty sure the sign says Ivar Avenue, which puts me near Bamboo House of Dolls. That means Max Overdrive is west. But, for the life of me, I can’t remember how far. Nothing to do but start walking. Go west, young man. Someone said that, right? Power through the desert. Try not to eat all your cattle or each other along the way. Brave pione

ers. Manifest Destiny. Make America great again.

Fuck that noise.

Where was I going?

Got it.

Max Overdrive. Man, my brain isn’t working right. And I think I’m bleeding. Must have cut myself shaving.

Goddamn, I’m hilarious.

Where was I going? West. Right.

Let’s get this wagon train moving.

I start walking. I’m pretty sure that’s what I’m doing because I keep bumping into buildings and parked cars. It’s hard to tell. I’m looking at the pavement a lot more than I am the street. From a distance I probably look more drunk than gutshot. Good. At least people will leave me alone. Unless I run into some cops.

Oh man. Whoever is in charge of the universe right now, please don’t let me run into cops. I don’t need the hassle and they don’t need me punching them because there’s no way I’m spending whatever time I have left in a drunk tank.

I miss Candy. I mean, I was just talking to her, but I still miss her.

I already miss the world too. Considering what a shitpile it is in daylight, L.A. is sure pretty at night. All light and the outlines of buildings floating against dead black sky and stars. I wouldn’t want to die anywhere else.

Shit. There must be an earthquake. All the buildings are on their sides.

Scratch that. It’s me. Must have missed a step. I have a hard time getting up until someone helps me to my feet.

Please don’t be a cop. Please don’t be a cop.

And it’s not.

He’s a scruffy little guy. Or maybe he’s tall. Everything seems to be both at once.

“You doing all right tonight, pardner?” he says.

Because I’m hilarious I say, “It’s my birthday.”

“Congratulations. Looks like you’ve been having a good time.”