[ Rust takes the bottle back. He drinks. ] (Fucking crazy.) [ He says without heat or emphasis. Photographs spill out, postmortems slick and shining like unshed tears: plum-colored bruises around her eyes, bloodstains on her faded floral print dress, this one half decomposed, her gums black, that one prostrate on a bed of leaves, the line of her mouth serious.
A little blonde girl, the line of her mouth also serious. Hair in her face. Alive, in this moment. ] (You knew him, yeah?) [ No break in his thoughts, all of it—air in his lungs, liquor on his breath, steady spiteful thud of his heart—an extension of his grief. ] (Got a question for you.)
no subject
A little blonde girl, the line of her mouth also serious. Hair in her face. Alive, in this moment. ] ( You knew him, yeah? ) [ No break in his thoughts, all of it—air in his lungs, liquor on his breath, steady spiteful thud of his heart—an extension of his grief. ] ( Got a question for you. )