index | archives | notes Tuesday, Jun. 16, 2009 7:03 a.m. << [ Two out of Three ] >> I draped myself on the hood of his car. Drunk, and he's reversing. I feel my shoes scrape the street, and then I crumple. I can't see anything, it's dark and now-liquid mascara is everywhere, but I know he's pulling out, driving away, driving back, stopping. "I couldn't do it," he says, "leave you." He fiddles with the lights, one, two, three minutes. And then he does leave. Best two out of three. << | x | >> whatiscopyright.org