i lay here dirty, blood covered, in this once white jean pocket, now browny red stained. me and henry are moving quikly, i'm rocking about in the pocket. i stop with a jolt. silence. all i can hear is silence.
suddenly i'm moved sharply out of the pocket into the cold midnight air. i can see the moon and the victim, who would lay dead and cold tommorow.
a beautifull young woman of about 20. with a familiar bag.
i'm brought up to her head. her eyes close. as do mine. i do not feel the familiar woosh in my ears or the final screem of the victim.