Jimmy was a switch-blade comb, utilitarian really. He’d married Sarah, this velvet bowling ball that snuck down one too many lanes in her high school days. She was destructive. She and Jimmy loved the fifties so they got matching cry-baby tattoos. Last week they worked at the plant. Today Jimmy’s filling out papers for government food while the post man’s delivering past due notices to Sarah. There are things you do to keep the lights on.