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Clever is the Devil: Chapter Three - navessa allen
My shift ended at four that night, just before the dinner crowd came in. I was still smiling to myself when Lucy, a diminutive white woman in her fifties with Dolly Parton hair and a froggy voice from thirty years of smoking, replaced me. My good mood evaporated on the ride home. The AC in the Jeep wouldn’t come on. I muttered a few of Momma’s favorite non-curse words and rolled all the windows down. It didn’t help. Just felt like someone had set a hair dryer to high and pointed it in my face. Hoping to distract myself, I turned on the radio. Nothing happened. “God-fucking-damn it,” I said, punching the button a few more times. Momma would have washed my mouth out with soap. The radio I could live without, and, I suppose, the AC too, though it would feel like riding in a sauna come August. Technically, I could afford to replace them, but I really didn’t want to shell out the cash. There was a reason I lived as meager as I did. Each week I contributed to the bank account Momma had started for me when I was little. I scrimped and saved and ate …