Screw you, she almost said. Screw your blossoms and your wheat and your green growing crap, it’s Charlie I want. Charlie with his missing front tooth and his way of whistling through it, Charlie in the passenger seat whooping as she drove down narrow roads, Charlie with his clever hands in the back seat, Charlie laughing as they sped away from the cops.

and yes the pomegranates were out of season / and yes the plums could have been less bitter

The night death was let into the world / we were playing faro with no aces