february gets up and gathers her things. looks down at march curled like a cat and sleeping. runs a hand across his back. it’s always so fleeting, so rushed. she turns to the door and march rolls over, unaware. how gentle he looks now, she thinks as she slips out into the night. how warm like a child.
You know, after I kill everybody and fuck their shit up, I’m a get a house here. Yeah, I’m a get a house here, maybe a wife, a little dog, raise my kids here. And then I can tell them the story about how Daddy liberated the whole country by shooting them in the face and breaking all their teeth. Kids love those stories.