It smelled like grease and I could still feel the skin cells from the corpse I ripped off of coating the inner guts. I didn’t care. I had the pepperoni pizza sweatshirt. I had it. Finally. George would stop laughing now, because when Tina saw me in this son of a bitch her labia would self-lubricate so fast that chaos theory dictated a colossal tsunami in some country that didn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter. Probably didn’t have cable TV there, or McDonald’s, and if those aren’t the tent pole for modern civilization then I don’t know what are.
