Cassie
Black was crossing the desert, the sun gleaming off the silver skin of the
Porsche and heat waves rising off the pavement in front of her.
She
put a Lucinda Williams compact disc in the car stereo and listened to it over
and over during the drive. The music rarely skipped badly on the smooth
freeways. She liked the outlaw spirit of the songs, the sense of yearning and
searching for something the singer put in every song. One of them made Cassie
cry each time it came up on the disc. It was about a lost lover who had gone
back to Lake Charles to die. (Connelly, Michael. Void Moon, p. 68-69)
