We were on subways and bus systems, mapping our escape on the charts on the wall. We rode for days, but it was always night. Always. There were almost never any passengers on the bus with us, so there were no witnesses when we murdered a girl and took her wallet. More specifically, I murdered her, and he cleaned up afterwards.
This is probably how it would go.
Outside in the air, he chose another target, a man maybe forty or fifty years old. I killed him, too, possibly stabbed him, possibly tore him apart. I can't remember. We emptied his wallet, too, and threw it into the ocean. I cut up the body to make disposal easier, and we set it on fire. When it wouldn't burn, we set the pink, quivering mass onto the ground and walked away, pink on green, human grease still in the container.
I miss him?