The last time Peg Dahl felt truly alive, she was holding a counterfeit parking ticket and a straight face.
“Your Honor,” Peg began, “the motorcycle in question was purchased with funds stolen from my mother’s nursing home fund. I have bank statements, a sworn affidavit from a psychic who saw the whole thing, and a photograph of the defendant wearing a T-shirt that says ‘I ❤️ Fraud.’ The shirt is arguably the strongest evidence.” buffaloed 2019
Peg laughed. It was a sharp, percussive sound, like a pinball hitting a bumper. “I don’t get buffaloed. I do the buffaloing.” The last time Peg Dahl felt truly alive,
“Tactical,” Peg said. “Not mischief. Tactical.” It was a sharp, percussive sound, like a
The judge pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ms. Dahl. You glued a lego to the gas pedal of his other car.”
Because in that moment, Peg Dahl realized she didn’t want to escape Buffalo. She wanted to own the parts of it that everyone else was too tired to fight for. The abandoned warehouses on the East Side. The loophole in the city’s towing ordinance. The old men who still settled bets with envelopes of cash and a handshake that meant nothing and everything.
“No,” Peg said, tucking a bill behind her ear like a flower. “I’m just from Buffalo. We’re born holding an ace and a grudge. Everything else is just the weather.”