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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2004-09-08 | [Este texto, tienes que leerlo en english] | I'm leaving, he says. You're dead like the rest of them. You worry about bills and groceries and how we can't afford take-out. You make friends with the mechanic and the plumber. I can't live with a corpse. Still, as he moves to walk past, he grabs a fistful of my hips blesses the stray dogs, pulls pushes same routine. Old dance of entangled limbs forgive and forget, we'll get there again, but at least we both feel alive this way. I twist a carnivore smile. Are you finished yet?
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