The Speed Queen by Stewart O’Nan

lawn chairs on it. The bathroom was too small for two people, but we got along. He had a big TV and a VCR, and every night when we got home we'd watch a movie and have fun on the couch. He loved Sugarland Express, and Badlands, and he loved Paul Newman in Winning. The Blues Brothers, Dirty Mary Crazy Larry — all the great car movies. He even taped episodes of "Route 66." I knew them all from when I was a kid. It was great.
    Describe it. I don't know what you want. The walls were off-white, that spray-stucco stuff. Off-white wall-to-wall carpet. Fake wood cabinets in the kitchen. A dishwasher that never worked.
    The balcony had a view of the old elementary school parking lot; that was always busy.
    Not a lot of furniture. A gold crushed-velvet couch and two matching chairs. His water bed and dresser were a matching set too, in dark wood. The water bed had these drawers underneath but they weren't really big enough for anything. It had a mirror in the headboard we both liked.
    No plants. Nothing on the walls. His old girlfriend Alison had taken all of that stuff and he'd never replaced it. There were still nails in the walls. In the bathroom he had a J. C. Whitney catalogue. The Home of Chrome, the cover said, and inside he'd circled everything he wanted —valve covers and traction bars, Hooker headers. The sink leaked, you could hear it in the middle of the night. Someone had stuck a Budweiser label to the corner of the mirror, and someone else had peeled half of it off.
    Our buzzer was always broken and one night the door of our mailbox was kicked in. The vestibule was full of leaves and red dust, and the sod on the lawn was dead. A sign by the sidewalk said efficiencies were available.
    What I remember most about it though is the two of us eating dinner in, or wasting the morning reading the paper. Just us lying

    on the carpet, the whole place quiet, just the air conditioner going. Casa Mia had great air conditioning.
    The quiet during the day, that was the best thing. Sometimes we'd stop reading and look up at each other. In the First week we made love in every room in that place, even the kitchenette.

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    Not much. We ate out a lot, just because of where we worked, and what hours.
    Diet Pepsi in cans, for the car, and in the two-liter bottle for there. Oranges for vitamin C. Cold cuts, usually hard salami and provolone cheese. Wheat bread.
    Later when Lamont was dealing, he kept everything in the freezer. I showed him how to turn a Ben & Jerry's carton into a safe. You take a full one and run hot water around it and the ice cream comes out like a plug. Then you cut the bottom half off. You take one of those little I Can't Believe It's Not Butter tubs, put your stash in it and put the ice cream on top of it. When we'd get an ounce, we'd buy two or three flavors.
    The usual stuff in the door, ketchup and stuff, tartar sauce. A gallon jar of pickle chips I'd steal from the Village Inn when I worked there. When I was at the Catfish Cabin I'd steal boxes of their steak fries. Sometimes we'd eat them when we watched our movies. On the side of the box it said Large French Fries, and Lamont would always say, "I'm about ready for some Large French Fries, how about you?"
    Eggs, bacon, butter. Milk. Frozen juice. Pink lemonade in the summer.
    Beer. Lamont loved his beer. Miller High Life. Not Lite and not Bud, and forget about Coors. We wouldn't even go to Mazzio's Pizza because they didn't have Miller. We'd get a suitcase every Thursday.
    Actually we ate more stuff out of the cupboard. Tuna fish, chicken noodle soup. Cereal, lots of cereal. Lamont had a thing for Cap'n Crunch. No crunchberries though.
    I had to clean it even though it was his. I put in a box of Arm & Hammer every month or two. You forget them and they turn into a brick.
    I hope that's enough. It's a weird question. Why do you have to know that anyway?

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    A typical day back then.
    We were both on swing, so we'd sleep in. We'd get up around ten, get showered,