“You want me to kill you, Mr. Fifteen Minutes? You go ahead and give me an excuse.” That speeds him up. It’s all coming back to me, like it was in my bones the whole time—the fuck you attitude. The confident command, just an edge of bravado to keep them off balance. It’s the way my mom faced down a big dealer one time. The way muggers talk when they’ve got you far from help. He gets on the ground, right on my X like I told him, staring at me, eyes full of hate through those thick lenses. Is he just waiting for his chance too? “Give me your glasses,” I say.
