On Clearwater Lake Road, there’s a fork. To get to Gerson’s U-Pick-It, you turn right. But I got turned around in my head and drove left . . .
A white Prius squealed up the driveway of the Chevron station and pulled around back. Dark, syrupy blood dried to the grill . . .
I looked out my apartment window through the Venetian blinds down at a street full of shadows . . .
To celebrate the release of Lost Canyon, we’re pleased to bring you a spotlight on Children’s Institute, Inc., a nonprofit organization for which author Nina Revoyr serves as executive vice president and chief operating officer.
Flat on my back in the middle of one of the most famous intersections in the world, Hollywood and Vine. Cars slalom around me. Finally, it becomes clear, like a fade-in from a bad movie: what it all means. The pictures run through my mind at twenty-four frames per second . . .
My fiancé Jeff offered up his family’s hunting cabin in northern California so I could finish my novel. No phone, Internet, or TV . . .
He walked down Telegraph Avenue toward campus, stepping around street kids, doped up and dirty . . .
Where the f**k am I?
My eyes snapped open and scanned the inside of a run-down apartment. Brown stains covered the couch like leprosy, and the living room looked like it had been robbed . . .