Paradise Lots 1 Marie-Ann & Lurleen
Paranormal Trailer Trash Thriller
As the sun settled behind the dusty oaks and pines on the ridge, Marie-Ann Twanette Snipes turned on the sign for Paradise Lots—a green and brown neon palm tree and low-watt CFLs outlining the 50s trapezoid shape.
Freshly painted a garish blue, the sign reminded her of good times back when the Paradise was a drive-in, when she'd met Bubba Dub, and when the world seemed full of promise.
"Be dark soon," she said to her girls in the Café O'Lay, the converted concession stand. "Make sure everything is stocked up."
Just twilight with the sky still blue and an orange moon rising, she knew customers would wait until full dark to nurse their sorrows and find some comfort for the night.
Each girl had her own little trailer parked around the café where they plied their trade, close by, easy to monitor, and wired for sound and video, just in case.
Other trailers were parked, too, derelicts from her previous attempt at running a trailer park back in the 80s, before the interstate shut down the truck stop at Due Now, SC.
Some homeless people squatted there in return for pick-up work. They were better off than being out in the woods, but not much.
Marie-Ann didn't have a heart of gold, but in hard times, it didn't pay to be too hard-hearted. People had to help each other out in the country, where everyone was related or owed each other money.
She made a pot of coffee, all for herself, and settled her wide hips on the stool behind the register, waiting for a slow Thursday night to start.
The door opened, admitting a bony 20-something woman wearing a ball cap and a stringy, dishwater ponytail, a stained tank top over ragged jeans, high-top tennis shoes, and a grimy backpack.
Anorexic or strung-out, she had circles under her eyes so dark she looked like a raccoon that had tangled with a badger.
"Hey, Mama," the woman said, stopping in the middle of the floor, her voice soft even in the quiet. "Can I come home?"