It’s fuckin cold out here. I can feel every hair on my arms prickin up like a goddam dog’s ears when he hears the kibble bag. That buzzin fuckin streetlight over there is pissin me off. Stupid orange glow from

He cut the ribbons with the precision of a surgeon. They had to be perfect. They must be perfect. If even one ribbon was out of place, she would be unhappy with him. He cut the wide strip its length,

I’ve got corners in my throat. I don’t know how else to describe it. Like an empty room, the empty room in an old house, the people long gone, dust-balls swirling around in the drafts coming in around windows shrunken

I’ma take off my jeans. No, now, don’t go a-fussin’—it’s for your own good. You see, these here jeans, I don’t know where they been. They come a-strollin’ in four-oh-six in the ay em this mornin’, all smug as you