Tuesday, 16 September 2008

He finished smoking, got out the car and walked over. Becca dropped to her knees and reached out for his waist. He skipped back, teasing. She fell in the mud. Face-down, her purple birthmark, the length of her right calf, showed. So dirty, he thought. And then he heard the dogs from over the hill. Bounding was what he thought them to be doing. Fucking dogs.