It sounds so innocent when I say it like that. It sounds like there weren’t teeth strewn over the asphalt, and blood and flesh weren’t caked into the pores of the cinder block walls. “By ‘beaten to a pulp’ you mean that you ground their faces into mush and cartilage against the cement, right?” he remarks flatly. I sit straight up and give him a reluctant stare. “It was that bad, wasn’t it?” He smiles grimly and flicks my forehead. “It was.”
