Cursing, Thomas sent his dog scampering away. The beer had been almost empty, but the mess was big enough to warrant a trip to the kitchen. He paused before the black entrance, realizing for the first time that the fluorescent light over the sink was out. Weren't those things i supposed to last forever? At this time of night, the kitchen ; was usually a nook of illumination in an otherwise darkened house. Silver shining in sterile light.

There was a sharp rap on the door to his right.

This time he did cry out.

He clutched his chest as he peered through the window.

It was Sam.

He yanked open the door and she was on him. Fierce kisses. Desperate breaths.

'You let me down,' she gasped. 'Twice you've let me down.' ;

'Sorry,' he said.

'No sorrys,' she said, pausing to stare at him. She smiled mischievously. 'Reparations.'

These are the rules.

I watch.

You set your groceries down, rummage through your purse, looking for your keys.

A man on a bicycle glances at your skirt line as he labors down the street. He likes his legs long and pale.

A bird sings with consumer confidence.

The leaves wave deep green, slow as though underwater. One twitters to the ground, spinning like a dollar bill.

Your door opens into the blackness of air-conditioned spaces.

The sun pricks the eyes of the children playing next door.

You steer your groceries through the dark slot. Recycled plastic rustles against the frame.

I follow.

Closer than your shadow.

Farther than your bones.

Now you lie there, watching my shadow grunt on your back, listening to my animal glory. The blood pools around your lips, your nostrils, as warm as cooling engine oil. You smell it, your life, as pungent as any excretion, and just as slick. You can feel yourself raining across your cheek. Raining down.

You lie there dying, without recognition, without resolve.

Neck broken, you weep without your body.

Meat.

These. These are the rules.

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER TEN

August 24th, 8.55 p.m.

Why did Daddy have to go?

The air mattress beneath him felt cold and wobbly, unsteady like his belly.

'Why did Daddy have to go?' he asked Ripley.

'Because I told you,' was her pouty reply. 'There isn't room, Frankie. Daddy's too big for the tent.'

'There's room,' Frankie said in a small voice.

'You said you wanted to sleep out here alone.'

'No I didn't.'

Ripley beat her arms against her sleeping bag in frustration. 'Yesss, you did. I heard you, Frankie. Now go to sleep.'

'But I change my mind, Ripley.'

'Frankeee!'

'But why,'