“God, I fucking hate him. I hope Troy falls into a vat of toxic, boiling goo like in that-that movie. You know, the one with Arnold Schwarzenegger. What’s it called?” She looks up at me expectantly. “He’s been in a lot of movies, babe.” “Yeah, but there’s only one where he’s a machine that gets dropped into a lava vat,” she cries. “Terminator?” I offer with a confused frown. “Yes,” she says with a snap of her fingers. “That’s what I want. I want Troy to stumble off a catwalk into a vat of molten lava, and I want to stir him in with a stick. I don’t want him murdered, because I don’t believe in
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