The Lord knows you are beautiful and unfair. I think perhaps you should spare a thought, dear,for those who are sick over you, burning up with you, damp with you. You know what you do. You’re a slow fever. Don’t be so very engaging, amusing or witty or bright. You are causing confusion and jams in tight spaces. You are an accident in waiting. The type of accident with casualties spanning from me to you and here to there, a potential tragedy, a stunning unborn disaster. Should I touch you, I will suffer and you will suffer and she will suffer. You are a danger zone. I must not enter. I should
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Me. Vincent. Sam...
