[ Grief is a hateful fucking thing, Carver thinks. He hardly realizes he’s pacing before he’s in motion, glass crunching under his boots because he cannot hold still. He will, he’s certain, die if he has to hold still. And of course he’s got a witness, John watching silently as he paces in tighter and tighter circles like a crazy person.
Crazy’s bad news. Everyone knows that.
He stops abruptly. Not looking at John. ]
My sister had a kid.
[ This is snapped out, almost like a blow. ]
And I guess he was kinda my kid, too. One of those things.
no subject
Crazy’s bad news. Everyone knows that.
He stops abruptly. Not looking at John. ]
My sister had a kid.
[ This is snapped out, almost like a blow. ]
And I guess he was kinda my kid, too. One of those things.