Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. “It makes me feel,” he said, “that nothing is impossible—to have you here beside me. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. Moments later, the movie began its gory climax, bass vibrating the seats with great bombast. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound.
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