Circle the wagons

They offered me shelter. The Rovers, I mean. Food. Safety in numbers. I look at Martin and Josie. My responsibility. Martin's shaking his head. Josie's looking at the sky. What do I care about the Rovers’ revolution? I back the fuck away.


Three fingers for Sasha. I watched her bleed out. Three for Sinjin and Marc, lost in the blast. Three more for Mimi, whose last words I couldn’t hear. Three for Viktor, my last hope. So much grief, and nothing left for me.

One way out

I fumble for the switch, slap it off. The only light is the flickering of the EXIT sign, staining her pink. I pretend these are your lips, your hands, your teeth digging into my skin. I let her take what is yours.

Spare key

It may be ramshackle, but it's mine. I paid what was owed. The floor creaks and the wind howls through a crack in the door. It’s never warm enough in here. The key sticks. You'll want to wiggle it in the lock.


Last night I glimpsed the curve of the Milky Way. It was in the arch of your lip, the arc of your back. For one instant I was weightless. Unmoored, I would have drifted away but for the anchor of your arms.