I take the canteen my
brother offers me and tilt my head back, drinking deep from it. The sun drops down on us
hard. I dont feel it anymore. My skins so brown I could pass for a Mexican
these days. My brothers pretty much the same.
Hes staring at my tattoo again, the cross and
the flames that take up most of my back. I turn away so he cant see it, think about
getting my shirt from the truck and putting it on. Im not ashamed of it, its
just that its private. I didnt get it for him to look at or to comment on. I
got it to remind me that even when theres doubt, I got something on me etched in ink
and blood that will not fade.
Nick takes back the canteen and drinks. Its so
hot out here, hot enough to bake the noise right out of the day, hot enough to make those
summer Illinois days when I was a kid with nothing to do but play in the shade of trees
these desert people could never dream of seem like memories of things that never happened.
On this end of the ranch its just him and me and
the truck, both of us sitting on the tailgate thats turned down. The dog, Pisser, a
yellow Lab, crawls under our feet and under the truck, trying to find someplace the sun
cant get to.
"Want to get back to it?" I say.
"In a minute," Nick says. He calls these
"stoppers," moments when it feels like time doesnt work anymore. He takes
them where he can get them; he says he needs them because of having been in jail.
"Never was any stoppers in there," he told me once. "Not one second where
you didnt have to watch your back or listen to somebody getting fucked."
Nick said he got raped in the shower once. I wish I
could say there wasnt some part of me thats deeply satisfied that this
happened to him.
"You preaching tonight?" Nick says.
"Yeah," I say, wiping my forehead with the
bandanna. I feel the scar there, the one that I dont like to touch.
"Dont know. Never do. The Lord does the
talking, I just open my mouth."
Nick sniffs. "Never thought youd end up
here, talking God to bunch of retards."
He doesnt like the people who come to listen to
me under the dying fig trees down by the horse pond. He calls them idjits and retards, and
his eyes narrow up, but those are just shades of the Nick from when we were kids, the one
that beat the shit out of me about every dayjust shadows. Occasional clouds.
More often than not hes fine to be around now, and no matter what he says, he comes
too, hanging back, listening, looking off in the distance like he doesnt care. Mia
comes with him, even though Id like her not to. She makes it hard to think
sometimes. Hard to hear God.
Nick stretches and gets up. "Lets go."
Pisser gives us an interested look, but doesnt
get up from where hes resting. We lift posts from the back of the truck and get to
digging new holes for them, neither of us talking, both of us sweating, and everything
fine in the moment.
We set our own hours, and I like that about
the job. Its another perk from the preaching, the being able to come and go as we
please, because the ranch owner is a religious man. We dont abuse the privilege; we
keep to a regular schedule, usually up and at it by seven and done around four or five.
Every once in a while we sleep in late. We share a fixed-up room in the back of the barn
with a swamp cooler that works just well enough to beat the heat back to the door and
makes everything so moist that all the pages of my books are turning up at the corners.
Driving back, I make marks on the map Nick drew to
show new places where the fence needs mending. It never ends; its the weather, the
wind, the rabbits and sometimes wolvesthey all tear it apart. It never stops.
Things fall apart, and we fix them.
"Were thinking about going into town
tonight," Nick says. Hes leaning back in his seat, hat pulled down nearly over
his eyes, one hand over the wheel. Couldnt look cooler if he tried. He means him and
Mia. Theyre not together, not in any kind of official way. They fuck a
lotIve seen her giving him head sometimes at night when they think
Im asleep, or maybe they dont care. They sit together in the truck sometimes
watching the sun go down, and sometimes go into Las Vegas to play the slot machines. She
teaches tourists how to ride horses when they get tired of losing money and they come up
the valley to see the real desert.
"You want to come with?" he says.
I shrug. "I dont know."
"You should. You havent left the ranch
since you got here."
I settle back and watch the posts go by, and the rocks
and the sand and the cacti, and the patches of dusty grass that are struggling just to be
alive. "I dont know what I want to do," I say.
I dont say anything to that. I dont want
to tell him that even though God speaks through me, I dont talk to Him. Truth is,
Im too afraid.
I turn the radio up. Reba McIntire takes us home.
I was in Tucson, drifting from place
to place, working at a bar. And I got shot. I remember the man who robbed the bar. I
remember the gun. I remember being dead.
I opened my eyes months later and far away, and there
was Nick, standing over me. He saw the scar, and he believed. When I see the scar, I have
"It feels like touching the other side of
something," Mia said. Nick told her about me and she came to see. She told the rest
of the women who worked on the ranch, the ones who cleaned the guest rooms and washed the
sheets, and they told their men, the ones who cut the grass and walked the horses from one
field to another, brushed them and sometimes raced them. They said they came just to
introduce themselves, but really it was to pray.
Nick said it was fever talk, the way Id close my
eyes and tell them to be strong and change their ways and turn away from sin. He said it
was nothing but crazy words, and he didnt like it at all. At first he chased them
off, but they always came back, until finally there were just too many of them, coming
hour after hour to sit by my bed, them and their families and their friends and friends of
friends, so finally, still weak and hurting, leaning on Nick, we all went to the tree,
where I opened my mouth and let the Lord come.
"It was beautiful," Mia told me later.
"The things you said. You almost convinced me that somebodys up there."
But I dont remember anything that I said, and
never have since. All I ever remember is this terrible feeling, like being shot all over
again. Its like that every time.
She sits on the edge of the bed and
"How was it?" Mia says, blowing out slowly.
She smokes a lot. Shes older than Nick, though how old, she wont say.
Shes so skinny that you can see her ribs.
"It was good," I say. Im laying back
on my bed, naked and sticky.
"Better than men?" she says.
"It was different," I say. "Fucking is
different than getting fucked. How was I?"
"You were very good," she says. She sighs.
"I dont like being with a guy who has had too many women. I get lost in the
shuffle, and he starts thinking of himself as a big stud. No woman wants to be lost like
Shes turned a little more towards me, holding
the cigarette between her finger and her thumb. I wish that I smoked, or that I had
something to do, anything, something appropriate. If I could draw, I suppose I would do
"Whats going to happen?" She stares at
me hard, dark eyes shining. "Whats coming next?"
"How would I know?"
She rolls her eyes. "Somebody like you, you got
to know something, right?"
"Somebody like me?"
She makes a gun with her finger and puts it to her
head. "Was God there when it happened? Thats all I want to know."
"I dont remember," I say, which is
almost the truth. "You know, there have been cases of people being shot at point
blank range, and the bullet just creases their skull, following the curve of the bone to
come out the other side. Its not always a miracle."
"Is that what you think happened?"
I watch her as she gathers up her clothes. She coughs
violently, a sound Im getting used to when shes around. She says its her
"What about Nick?" I say when shes at
the door, leaning on it to slide her shoes on.
"Were not married." She ties her hair
up. "But hes going to find out. People always find out. Thats just the
way it is."
And then shes gone, leaving the door open,
letting the heat roll into the room. I let it lay on me, just like she did, and wonder who
I am now.
Shes right, he does find out.
Were driving out to the south part of the ranch,
the side that tends to get the most destruction, when he brings it up. "Guess it
makes sense," he says out of the blue. "She loves to fuck, and theres not
a lot of guys out here except the fucking Mexicans, and she dont like their
"Im sorry," I say. "We were
talking about me being a virgin, and it just happened."
He cocks an eye at me. "Was that all?" His
expression breaks down the middle into a grin, and he laughs. "Well. Then thats
nothing to worry about."
He reaches behind his seat and pulls out a bottle with
the label torn off. He likes to drink in the afternoons, and likes to drink while
hes driving. He holds it out to me, and I take it. Its hard to understand what
Im doing, or why Im doing it. Everything feels like Im swimming
"Im afraid of you," I say. I tip the
bottle back, take a drink and gag. It tastes like it could be the stuff we use to wash the
"Funny," he says. "Im afraid of
We follow the long curve of the outside road, the one
that borders the entire ranch, filled with holes, rocking the old truck back and forth,
shifting the dust on the dashboard and the weight of the wrappers and cans at our feet.
"Ive always been afraid of you," he
says. "Youre like one of them birds that puts eggs in other birds nests.
You know what Im talking about?"
"Cuckoos." I look at the door handle and
wonder what it would be like to jump if I had to.
Nick drinks deep from the bottle. "That guy I
killed," he says. "I dont feel guilty. Im sorry it happened, but
He was hitching back home from a bar. Nobody knows why
he stabbed the guy, and Nick never said, not even at his trial. They think it was robbery.
I never thought hed say anything about it.
"Whats fucked is that it was easy," he
says. "I mean, I killed somebody, and Im still here, still eating and drinking
and fucking and shitting, and that dudes been dead for years now, and it dont
even matter. Not one little bit."
Were far out on the edge of the ranch now, to
the parts that only we and the horses would ever come to, just the people that fix fences
and the animals that go up to them, staring stupidly at the other side, not understanding
that theres another world out there, a different one.
"Little brother," Nick says.
"Shes mine. You dont fuck her no more. Got it?"
Driving. Silence. Sun. Fence.
He holds out his hand.
"Shake it," he says. "Thats what
I shake his hand. It really doesnt make anything
Mia and I fuck every other night. I guess
she fucks Nick on the nights when shes not fucking me. I dont know if he knows
or not. Weve reached something nice, finally, me and him, just working, just being
together. Every once in awhile, for no reason, he gives me a fake punch in the arm,
smiling, nicer than any apology.
He doesnt love her; he barely talks to her
during the times when their paths cross on the ranch or during meals when we eat up at the
big house with the Mexicans. I dont think she loves him either. If she fucks him
like she fucks me, she does it in a way thats a little scaryshes
trying to fuck something away that shes afraid of. Whatever it is, she hasnt
killed it yet; whatever it is, shes losing.
At night I walk out past the fences, up into the hills
where I sit and watch the moon and the stars and the weird blue shine that the desert
gets, and the Las Vegas lights in the distance, the little glitters that remind me of gold
and are probably supposed to. I hear things in the dark and Im very still, hoping
they will show themselves. They dont, most times, but Im still content. I like
being here at the ranch. I like seeing my brother. I like fucking Mia. I like the hot,
endless days, and the sun that burns. I like repairing the fences. I like it all.
You might even say that I love it. And thats a
word that has all the fear in the world wrapped around it.
They finally talk me into going into Vegas.
We drive in silence, her
in between us, watching the taillights of the
other cars. Mia either holds Nicks hand or twirls her hair around her fingers. She
has something on her mind. I watch the road under the door go by, and think once again
about what it would be like to jump.
We go to the Riviera. Mia knows someone there and they
give us a room for next to nothing. There are two huge beds in it, and a TV, and a giant
bathtub, and a window that looks out over the old casinos. "Look at all the
people," I say, pulling the curtains aside.
"Assholes with too much money," Nick says,
lighting a cigarette.
"Oh, stop it," Mia says, laughing. It sounds
forced. Nick shrugs.
We walk downstairs and sit at slot machines, dropping
nickels and quarters into them. Nick wins three hundred dollars and buys us bottles of
beer. Mia drinks them fast, slamming them on counters and letting out loud whoops. She and
Nick smoke cigars and cough. I dont have any luck at all, not with the slots and not
with the blackjack table where I lose forty dollars. We all get very drunk very fast.
We circle the casino like ghosts, hovering through
every aisle, drinking, cheering for others who win, falling over each other, swearing,
telling dirty jokes. I barely even notice that Ive started putting my arm around Mia
when shes not hanging on Nick, and she jumps back and forth between us, first him,
then me. My brother and I look at each other, still grinning, but with shark eyes now.
We fall into our room, all three of us, and Mia goes
to the TV and turns it on, finds some station thats playing music and turns it up
loud. She dances around the room, twirling and twirling, her hair fanning out behind her.
"Come here, you," Nick says. He grabs her
and kisses her, hard. The two of them tear at each other. I know I should leave. Hes
waiting for me to leave, but I cant.
Mia reaches down into Nicks pants. Then she
slides down, pulling them open, pulling it out, going down on him.
The music is loud, but I can still hear the wet sounds
and her grunting. When the moment hits, he loses it, throws his head back and howls, grabs
her hair tight. He groans, looking at me, catching his breath. "Fucking queer,"
he says, yanking his pants up. He goes to the TV and turns it off.
I weave unsteadily on my feet.
Mia sweeps her hair out of the way and we see blood
trailing freely out of her nose.
"What the fuck?" Nick drops to his knee
beside her. "Did I do that?"
She wipes it away, and looks at her hand. She runs to
the bathroom and I hear her crying, knocking things over in there, the thumping sound of
the toilet paper roll as she pulls wads of it free. Nick goes to the door and I follow,
standing behind him.
Shes sitting on the floor, holding the paper to
her face. Its blooming red between her fingers.
"Im calling the ambulance," Nick says.
"No," she says. "Dont. Itll
stop. It always does. Just leave me alone."
We do, taking seats on the end of either bed, passing
a cigarette between us.
"God damn it," Nick says, rubbing his eyes.
I know how he feels.
The bleeding doesnt stop, so we take
her to the hospital.
We both pace the halls, staying clear of each other,
not allowed to see her yet, not being family. Eventually the nurse says she asked for
Nick, and he winks at me when he walks by.
He comes back ten minutes later, his face a lighter
color. He tells me its my turn.
Shes sitting up in bed, tubes in her nose and in
her arms. "I have a tumor," she tells me. "I knew it. I was having
headaches and nosebleeds, and trouble remembering things."
She tries to cross her arms, but cant because of
"Am I going to be okay?" she says.
"Yeah," I say. "Of course."
She looks at me for a long moment.
"Youre just a fucking kid," she says.
"Pray with me. You can do that, right? I mean, tell me something like you tell those
assholes at the ranch, tell me Ive got something better waiting for me."
I should. I can feel God in my throat ready to come
out, but I fight Him off and leave, back out to the waiting area where my brother is
standing in front of the picture window, the tint of it holding back the sunrise
thats taking over the world.
He turns. "She told you?"
"Yeah," I say.
He sighs, a long, drawn out noise as if hes
pushing all the air out of his body. He folds his hands between his legs and lets them
hang there in the air, shaking slightly with the force of his pulse.
"I dont want to do this," he says.
"Doc says its the kind that grows fast. Theyre going to try to kill it,
but he thinks a few months, tops. Said I should get ready cause its going to
be bad. What do you think about that?"
"I think you better do right for once," I
say. "I think its your last chance."
Ive never talked to my brother like that before.
"Is that what God thinks?" he says.
"I dont know," I say. "I
He pulls a couple of dollars out of his pocket.
"Go get us some cokes, Johnny," he says.
Its a little brother kind of thing to do, and
Im happy to do it. Shes right, I am just a fucking kid, and right now I want
to be one for as long as I can.
Tests. She gets a million of them. Blood
tests, piss tests, tests for the way she thinks. She comes and goes between the hospital
and the ranch, and the more I see her, the more its like I can see through her, more
pale every time. I dont talk to her. I cant convince myself that this
isnt my fault.
Nick is always with her at the hospital or with her at
the side of her bed, so I fix the fences by myself now. I still go to the tree, and they
still gather to listen, and I still never remember a single thing that was said, even
though they tell me it was wonderful. No, when God talks I go back to being dead, and I
cant tell if Im being punished or rewarded for something. I guess it could be
I try very hard not to think about why why me,
why I died, why shes going to die, why she wont wake up the same way that I
Why can drive you crazy.
A month. Then two. People forget about Mia.
She sleeps all day and night. I hardly ever see Nick. He sleeps next to her in the room
the ranch owner is letting them have. Everyones trying to make up for something.
Im sitting on my bed, drawing circles on a pad
of paper. My scar hurts something terrible tonight, like it always does when the
weathers about the change. My birthday is next week; it seems wrong to have a
birthday when someone is dying nearby, to have your time counted out loud when theirs is
running out so fast.
Its windy outside, and Nick is in our room for a
change, sitting on the end of his bed, facing away from me, smoking. Im glad for the
company and for the pleasant scent of the smoke in the air. We dont need the swamp
cooler tonightthe wind is bringing in a chill from the desert night, and it
feels good on the back of my neck.
The door opens and Mia comes in. She looks like she
crawled right out of the ground, like the nightmares I used to have about my mother after
she died, that she would come into the house, skin and bones, reaching for me.
But Nick, all he sees is love. He jumps to his feet
and holds her up. "What the hell are you doing?" he says, helping her to his
bed. She looks like walking hurts her, like everything hurts her. Some of her hairs
gone, right down to the skin, and the idea that I ever fucked her makes me want to throw
She cant speak for a moment, catching her
breath. I wonder what its like to have something inside your own head thats
destroying you, making your body eat itself and sometimes yell crazy shit into the air,
things we can all hear in the night when its really bad. No worse than a bullet, I
"Hi Johnny," she says, trying to smile.
"How you doing?"
"Good," I say. "How are you?"
"Dont be a dumb fuck," Nick says. He
makes her lie down, putting a pillow behind her head so she can sit up. Shes wearing
a dress, something white and simple that ties up the front, and her ribcage is plain as a
side of beef at a butcher shop.
"Hes just being friendly," Mia says.
"I miss that, having people be friendly."
She pats the side of the bed, and unable to resist, I
come and sit next to her. Nick glares at me, stands at the foot of the bed, crossing and
uncrossing his arms.
"We should get you back into bed," he says.
"Ill carry you. Come on."
"Im not going back," she says.
"Theres nothing there, anyway. You know Lupita? The one with the mole under her
eye that you said looks like she sneezed and never cleaned it up? I gave her everything I
had. I told her to sell it all."
She laughs; its a broken sound.
"Then Ill get it back," Nick says.
"Dont worry about it."
"God, Nick," she says. "Dont you
get it? Im not going back to that room. Im not going anywhere. This is the
last place Im ever going to go."
Theres a loose board on the south side of the
barn, one that whistles with the wind. I wish I could find it and kick the shit out of it
just to make the sound stop.
She slides her hand over mine. Its like holding
hands with a skeleton covered with warm tea bags. "The chemos not taking,"
she says. "Thats it then. The end."
"Mia," Nick says, "come on, this is
She kisses me. I dont kiss her back; her dry
lips are smashed into mine. My mind is full of white, waiting for Nick to do something,
and he doesnt disappoint. He hits me and I fall off the bed, flat on my back.
Hes standing over me, pushing her away, back into the pillow. "Knock it
"No," she says. "I want him. I miss
him. Hes a better fuck than you ever"
"Shut up!" he shouts.
She shakes her head. I remember when she danced, how
beautiful her hair was, how much there was of it.
"I came to fuck him one last time," she
pants. "I love having his big dick."
He makes a lion roar and jumps on the bed, shaking
her. I get up and hit him in the side of the head, once, and then again. He doesnt
even flinch, hes shouting at her, screaming, calling her a whore, saying he
cant wait until she dies.
And then he stops, like a switch being flipped. He
lets her go, getting up.
"Come on," she rasps, crying, trying to sit
up. Her face is red; her shoulders have finger marks. "Youre not even a fucking
"Shut up," I say to her. "Nick, she
doesnt know what shes saying."
"Quiet, Johnny," Nick says, wiping his face
on his arm. "She knows. Christ, she knows."
He sits down on the floor, cross-legged. Hes
shaking a little.
"You have to help me," she says, still
trying to pull her body up on the pillow. "I cant do this. Ill have to go
back to the hospital. Surgery, they say. Small chances, they say. Fuck that. Ive
seen it, in my father, in his guts, the way you go out, screaming."
"No," Nick says.
"You got to help me," she gasps.
I feel like Im trying to read a book, and every
other page is missing. Nick sees the wide-open expression on my face, and laughs.
"Dont you get it?" he says. "She
wants me pissed off so Ill kill her. Thats what Im good for, right?
Killing people. She figures she can check out the easy way if she gets me mad. You bitch.
Why dont you kill yourself?"
She swallows, and claws at the air.
"I cant," she says, her nose running
with blood. "Its a sin. Please, I dont want to die in the hospital.
Please Nick, I love you, you have to help me."
I back away from them until my legs hit my bed and I
sit down with a thump.
"No," Nick says, shaking his head, sweat
flying from the end of his hair. "You aint using me like that."
He looks over at me.
"Now youve really been screwed by a
woman," he says, grinning the worst grin Ive ever seen, something that could be
the keyhole to hell.
She rolls to her side and gets to her feet. She comes
at him with what strength shes got, hitting him, calling him a faggot, but he just
pushes her away and wont look at her.
The wind whistles, the tiles of the clock fall over,
and all three of us breathing hard at the same time. She stumbles to the door and leans on
"I love you," she says, and falls out into
the night, not closing the door behind her. Shes a shadow, and then shes gone,
maybe back to her empty room, or maybe someplace else we dont know. I think Im
going to cry, but I hold it down. Nick just sits there, rocking a little, staring at the
spot on the floor between his legs.
Finally, he gets up like a rocket, on his feet so fast
it scares me.
"Get your coat," he says.
"Preach to me," Nick says.
"Tell me something that God wants me to hear."
Hes got both hands on the wheel, hunched over a
little bit, teeth grit as he scans the way before us. We left the fences behind fifteen
minutes ago, and driving as fast as he is, taking lefts and rights at random, bouncing up
and down so much that were in a sort of freefall, I dont know if were on
any road at all anymore.
"You know it doesnt work that way," I
say, holding on to my seat.
"So make it," Nick says. "You going to
let God push you around?"
"Nick," I say. "In the morning, she
wont mean any of it. She loves you."
"She tried to trick me," he says. "You
mustve thought there was some part of her that actually liked you. Hows it
feel to know she didnt mean a word of it?"
It hurt like hell, to tell the truth.
"Tell me little brother. Can you fool God?"
Cacti are whizzing by us. Brush plants in front of us
are mowed down by the truck. No, were not on a road now. I look over my shoulder and
see nothing but dark behind us. Not the lights of Vegas and not the lights of the ranch,
"Maybe in your heart," I say. "Maybe He
cant see if you hide it down far enough."
He swallows. "I tried being good for her. Fuck,
for you, too. But here we are, same exact place as if Id shot you myself."
He slams on the brakes and we skid to a halt, dust
billowing around us until its just me and him in the cab, and gray outside the
"What are you doing, Nick?" I say. Sweat is
trickling down my side.
"Get out," he says. "Im leaving
you here. You got your fucking head blown off and God made that all right, so I guess He
can handle this well enough."
"Nick, dont," I say.
He squeezes his eyes closed, tight as he can.
"You better get," he says.
I start to beg him, but before I can talk theres
that lightning bolt of pain in my scar, the same that always comes when God is there.
"Water is wet both because we expect it to be,
and because it is," I say. "But that doesnt change the fact that its
water, and that in small doses, its necessary, and that in large doses, it drowns
us. Thats the world. Yelling at water wouldnt change any of it."
He opens his eyes, staring at me, licking his lips.
"Shit," he says. "I thought it was an act. I really did."
"What?" Im blinking stupidly.
"What did He say?"
Nick winces, the leather around the wheel creaking as
he chokes it. "Get out, Johnny. Get out or Ill kill you."
The door moans open; the wind is strong and cold.
Its so black that I cant see more than a couple of feet away from the
headlights. Nick reaches across the cab and yanks the door shut, and then hes
spinning out in the dust, tearing the truck around and roaring back the way he came, the
red of the taillights hovering in the air, bouncing around like some monster retreating
I look around me. My eyes are trying to adjust, but
its so dusty.
I take a few steps, trying to see the tire tracks.
Before long Ive lost them to the wind, which is shifting everything in snaky lines
at my feet, blowing the trail home into pieces.
I take a step and get stabbed in the ankles by
Theres nothing in that direction except night.
Nothing in that one either, or that one, or that one over there. But its not that
far to the city, or to the highway, or to the ranch. It cant be far.
I strain to hear a car, a plane, something that will
tell me what way to go, but the wind howls over everything. I strain to hear God Himself,
but nothing from that direction either.
"FUCK!" I shout at the top of my lungs,
listening for something to come back.
I jam my hands in my pockets and start walking, head
down, stumbling in the dark, falling a few times, getting stuck with thorns and brambles
until Im bleeding and pissed and scared. Hes my brother, and he will come back
for me when he calms down. He has to. Things are different now.
But he doesnt come back for me. And time passes,
how long I dont know, until the sky purples and then blues, and when theres
enough light to see around me I dont recognize anything, and theres nothing
but miles of scrub and dusty hills, no planes, no sounds of a road, and the sun is
creeping in my direction, and I have no water and no shade and I have lived near the
desert long enough now to know what those things mean.
My skin prickles as the sun creeps over it, bringing
Its one or the other, I think. Either the bullet
went around or all the way through.
Scared to death, I start walking. Im slowly
climbing up a rise, nearing the top. I dont know what Im going to see once I
get there. A road? Nothing but flat plains for miles? Im praying that Ill find
my way, but I think I know the truth in my heart, that I will not, because I dont
know why any of this happened: why Im here, why I woke up, why I fucked her. I
dont know if I deserve this, or if words like sin and salvation really mean
anything, or if theyre just fancy jumped-up ways for us to talk about how we
cant help fucking each other over. I dont know. I dont know what God
wants. I dont know if thats really Him talking with my mouth, or just some
part of me that thinks its Him.
I dont know whos fooling who. I just
dont fucking know.