081413 #worm She says. Ltiky wakes up in a matchbox hotel room. It's been seventy-two hours since he left his wife; why doesn't he feel good? The air is green. The luminescent hands of the clock rise up in total surrender. The air-conditioner kicks on. It's freezing in here. He wraps the sheet around him--the one remaining unkicked sheet--and worms out of bed. He has a feeling he's been here before. With declension in his gut, he draws back the heavy curtain, revealing the parking lot, a giant hot dog, and some weeds.