I remember sinking into the red leather at midnight, high, swallowing Berryman.
I remember, lost, knee-deep in twenty-nine, laughing with Henry as bullets scorched through the living room.
I remember, watching Henry slice into her silk, stashing a leg behind the tattered recliner with a smirk.
I remember, when the round finally found you, etching a divot into your pixelated chest.
I remember, watching you sputter, cursing for a moment as Henry tucked her fingers into the silverware drawer.
I remember the flash, the crack of sinew, you are Lazarus come from the dead.
I remember giggling with Mr. Bones, as Henry slipped bits of her hair in the pantry next to the apples.
I remember, in the seven-o-clock haze, eying Henry, marking off his quarry from the night before. His list is always blank.
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