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"Where was I?" she asks me, her head on my chest, her hand on my cock.

"I don't know," I say.

"Where were you?" she asks.

"I don't know."

"What are we going to do about that?" she asks.

"I don't know."

We are silent for a long time.


When the sun wakes me in the morning, she is gone.

I pull on pants and rush to the street.

She is sitting on the stoop, smoking a cigarette.

She holds the gun in her right hand.

"If I shoot this," she says, "I shoot it to kill."

She looks at the gun, takes another drag on the cigarette.

"Will you follow me into hell?" she asks me, her blue eyes looking up at me.

"I will," I say.

"Then follow me," she says and starts walking down the street.

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