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I
smell
smoke
and
remember
the
birthday
cake
"
I
almost
broke
the
steering
wheel
with
your
head
,
"
he
says
.
Just
nothing
else
,
just
the
night
air
and
the
smell
of
smoke
,
and
the
stars
and
the
mechanic
smiling
and
driving
,
my
head
in
his
lap
,
all
of
a
sudden
I
do
n't
feel
like
I
have
to
sit
up
.
Where
's
the
cake
?
The
mechanic
says
,
"
On
the
floor
.
"
Just
the
night
air
and
the
smell
of
smoke
is
heavier
.
Did
I
get
my
wish
?
Up
above
me
,
outlined
against
the
stars
in
the
window
,
the
face
smiles
.
"
Those
birthday
candles
,
"
he
says
,
"
they
're
the
kind
that
never
go
out
.
"
In
the
starlight
,
my
eyes
adjust
enough
to
see
smoke
braiding
up
from
little
fires
all
around
us
in
the
carpet
.
THE
FIGHT
CLUB
mechanic
is
standing
on
the
gas
,
raging
behind
the
wheel
in
his
quiet
way
,
and
we
still
have
something
important
to
do
,
tonight
.
