It's hard to do in this kind of job. Even from a distance she hits you straight in the lungs in much the same way as one of those cigarettes you keep rolling from other cigarettes you find on the ground. I haven't actually messaged her yet but I am convinced that we are meant to be together. Still I am covered in someone else's blood. It's possible at this stage to hear the first radar reports.
There's no pressure. After all, three million dead is a lovely sight. She's OK as illuminated by gunshots, artillery fire, a knife pulled from a boot reflects the light of the moon on her face and in the moments like those- yeah, she seems OK I suppose.
Our relationship is complicated: She kills people like me for money and sometimes for free. She can't see me till January two thousand and eighteen, possibly.
Gamma ray burst eventually melts the entire western hemisphere of the planet into a wasteland of liquid magma and I ask her if she wants to go to see the double screening of both the Bad Boys films they're showing as a run up to the recently announced third. Unfortunately she is dead along with most of the other people I know so I have to see it by myself. It's no big deal, really.
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