"A hunter, eh?" You raise an eyebrow, somewhat impressed and curious, but don't push further. You're thinking about giant trees and elevated cities of tiny winged assholes and how many questions Ray would be asking if he were here. "You plannin' on goin' back? After, I mean." Is this a permanent move or a strangely timed vacation?
How the fuck does that happen twice? "Damn. That's shit." What more can you say on the matter? It's a shit hand she's been dealt, nothing more or less. You'd like to know the story someday, maybe, but you know better than to pry at old wounds. "She around now?"
Speaking of old wounds. You take a drink deep of the bottle, letting silence lapse a moment before releasing it with a sigh. "Yup." Heard every condolence, every way it can be said. Nothing brings him back. And what more is there to say past that? Yup, your son is dead, yup, it sucks. Yup, your life stopped moving on that day.
More silence. Finally you clear your throat, swallow down the familiar lump. "What's, ah, what're their names? Yours." If your voice is a little huskier than before, well, who's to blame you? You're trying, and that's something at least.
Zephyr
you can be the ripest, juciest peach in the world
and there's still going to be someone who hates peaches
and there's still going to be someone who hates peaches
