And I didn’t. Instead I lay tense, faking nonchalance as I observed Nakota’s sorry fucks sprawled slack-jawed before the TV, watching the video, the video, the video until I wanted to jump up and run out of the room, which was probably part of the point. Maybe all of it, though I wasn’t vain enough to think so, and anyway Nakota was famous for her crisscross motives, occasionally reaching heights so dizzyingly Byzantine that even she couldn’t say with certainty what the real reason was.
