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The Burned Handler
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I used to be a handler like you, then I turned into a horse.
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He continued to stare, idly wishing his gaze could burn right through Danny. But that wasn't right. On principle he wasn't saying anything Crisanto necessarily disagreed with. What was Tina now? Worm food. An idea, at best. Drawings never to be completed, barren deserts on the walls of Cochise. A memory carried on the wind and in all the spaces she wasn't. Hadn't he and Danny smoked and talked about death in general in those exact terms? Bonded in the past about worthless it all was and thus they had no reason not to just enjoy whatever pleasures - drugs, sex, the rush of endorphins from exercise on Crisanto's part - they could get?

It was so much harder to say that when death was looking you right in the face with its hollow eyes, standing in the space somebody you knew was supposed to be. Half the people Crisanto actually gave a shit about in this city were on that bus. His hands kept opening and closing.

This was Tina's chair, but she probably would've been okay with him sitting in it. She just wasn't here to ask. Never would be.

"I get where you're coming from, but don't talk about her like it doesn't matter."
MurderWeasel getting impatient
Hiya, jerk! Please don't post until edits have been completed, as doing so causes confusion/messes up the queue.

18:48 Ruggawork I have faith in you!
18:48 Ruggawork and your ass!

16:35 Kilmarnock Maybe Iktor?
16:35 Kilmarnock Maybe Toben.
16:35 Kilmarnock hard to tell until they make out with me.
16:35 *** mib_6brm7d is now known as Irene

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Sfumato · V6 Meanwhile...