Luc was subdued. He followed Julie into the foyer of the museum. The weight of the stone walls and the stained glass in the deep windows reminded him of both prison and church. The funereal lighting and the security guards in rubber-soled shoes whispering into their radios made him nervous. He felt like he was under surveillance, that the guards were suspicious of him, that he was being followed. He was afraid that he would crack under the pressure of that unspoken accusation. He’d reach out and touch some artifact and, to his horror, watch it disintegrate under the pressure of his hand. Or worse, after its thousands of years of terrible thirst, suck up the minutiae of oil and sweat from his skin, his fingerprint remaining as the indisputable evidence of his guilt.       What’s the matter? Why do you have that look on your face? asked Julie. Come on, can’t you try to cheer up? It’s not that bad.       Luc gave her a wan smile and kissed her dryly on the lips.       In the case in front of them was a stela with hieroglyphics. Follow your heart all the days of your life, read the inscription. Julie frowned. She looked at the stone as if by concentrating hard enough she could come to an understanding of the meaning of the symbols and read them for herself.       You know, the Egyptians believed that the heart recorded all the good and bad deeds of a person’s life. In the afterlife a man was judged by weighing his heart against a feather. If it were lighter than the feather, he would enjoy eternal life.       And what if it was heavier?       Then that was it, I guess, hell for you. Or, just non-existence, I don’t know.       What did they judge you on?       I have not made any man to weep. I am pure. I am pure. That’s the only thing I can remember. I can’t really remember anything else, said Julie.       What’s that from?       The Book of the Dead, Julie said.       Did you read that?       Yeah, but a long time ago. I don’t really remember it.       Julie moved away from the hieroglyphics that had been engraved in the Fourth Dynasty toward a statue of a kneeling woman carved out of pink granite. Luc walked along behind her sullenly. She was the main attraction in the gallery for him. He stopped when she stopped.       She looked at a papyrus fragment as if looking into the distance at an approaching sandstorm. He, too, looked at the papyrus, its black and red ink still clear after thousands of years. He looked from the papyrus to Julie, as if it were an artery into her thoughts.       She stopped in front of a display of jewellery. On one side of the case was a beaded necklace made of carnelian and jasper, on the other was one of lapis lazuli with yellow gold amulets in the shape of frogs.       Beautiful, isn’t it? she said.       She was not really looking at anything when she spoke, and Luc didn’t know if she was talking about the necklace or something else. He didn’t answer. The papyrus and the beads looked to him to be infinitely fragile, protected in their glass cases, without which they would disintegrate into a fine dust. He felt the choking dryness of the room. It was the delicate climate control that prevented, just barely, those frail artifacts from crumbling into nothing. He thought that embalming was somehow more sophisticated an idea than anything we’d come up with since. Imagine NASA trying to invent a technology for everlasting life.       Julie looked into a case that held alabaster jars that had been used for storing medicine.       Hey, look at this, she said. It says that along with giving medicines, they used incantations to heal. That’s really wonderful, magic spells were part of the cure.       Let’s go look at the mummy, said Luc.       They stood in front of the open sarcophagus, staring down at the mummified body of the long-dead queen. Three children came up and crowded in front of them to look at her, too. They chattered in their pretty child-voices, the older one saying that the mummy was so cool, man. The two littler ones nodded their heads, crowned with blonde curls. Then they ran over to look at the mummified cat, which to them was way more impressive and more singular than any old queen. The queen continued on as she had for centuries, rigid, fixed in the long night, her skin having turned to papyrus ages before, with only remnants of her nails and the last wisp of her decayed hair flattened to her tiny skull.       This is creeping me out.       Wait a minute. Luc held her arm to prevent her from walking on. Like a child, he thought that if he could just try hard enough, he could become the Official of the Desert and the Commander of the Hunters. If everything remained deadly quiet, he could be transported to that high stature for a moment, and, from that pinnacle, he would command her to kneel.       Did you know that after the discovery of the tombs, Europeans imported bitumen of mummies and used it to try to cure their diseases? said Julie.       What’s that? Luc asked.       She shuddered. They ground them up.       Julie walked in a circle around a carving of the head of a woman in black stone that was polished to a high shine. The eyes, empty of pupils, were witness to a perfect eternity. The head had been made as a repository for ka, the life force. It was a reserve head. The reserve heads, with their subtle portraiture, were put in the tomb in case something happened to the real mummy’s head and a replacement was needed.       Julie felt Luc’s restless energy. He’d had enough of looking at artifacts and was losing the ability to suppress his boredom. She sighed. It was the end of her holiday in the museum. She didn’t think Luc should be entitled to be the one to decide when his punishment was up. By right, that should have been her privilege. Still, she didn’t have the heart to keep him there against his will any longer. That he’d suffered the afternoon was enough.       Do you want to get something to eat? she asked.       Yeah, I need a coffee.       They took the escalator back downstairs to the café and sat down at one of the little bistro tables. Buddha watched over them from the other end of the gallery.       I wonder what all that stuff would be worth.       What do you mean, it’s ancient, said Julie.       Yeah, but someone must have to decide. They’d have to put a price on it for the insurance, anyway.       Luc put his hands on the table restlessly. The waiter brought his coffee on a saucer with biscotti. Julie had a tomato salad with flat bread and marinated olives. She put one of the black olives in her mouth and gracefully removed the pit, which she put on the side of her plate. At what point did simulation fail? How much nourishment did she need? The plate in front of her of tomatoes, drizzled with olive oil and lightly salted. In the tombs, the hieroglyphs of food substituted for food. Maybe a hieroglyph for love would be enough to sustain her for eternity. Eddie’s voice grew loud and more threatening. They heard it above the radio, which was playing an old Sinatra tune. Quiet at first, then louder, then silence. Then, Alex’s voice. She as dangerous, or even more so. Something crashed to the floor. If they continued it would be another sleepless night, another night interrupted by the noise of breaking hearts. Julie and Chandra listened. How could you tell if, or when, it crossed over from ordinary misery into the perilous? Julie’s heart beat rapidly in recognition of the sound of poverty, of worthless objects crashing to the floor in a thousand fragments of anguish.       Julie knocked loudly on Alex's door. Chandra stood behind, pressing into her.       Go away, Eddie yelled.       I'm not going away, Julie yelled back.       The door was unlocked. She went into the little entrance and then slowly into the bedroom, stepping over the mess. Clothes had been pulled out of the drawers and ripped to pieces, the corpse of a ball gown, a glove. Books were scattered everywhere, with the pages torn out. Plants had been dumped; their shredded leaves littered the floor and mounds of dirt were crushed into the rug. A lamp was overturned and smashed, its crystal teardrops scattered. The silly gifts Eddie had once given Alex in naked love lay smashed or disembowelled. Pieces of a board game, with their sharp plastic edges, mined the floor. He had worked with mechanical determination as he moved from one object to the next, systematically destroying all the proof of their life together.       Alex kept as much distance from him as she could in the small apartment. Her eyes were wide open in rage and shame. Julie put her arms around her.       Shh, shh, she said, although Alex hadn’t made a sound.       Eddie stopped and inhaled deeply, rapidly. He looked at Alex, and then at Julie, with hatred. He stepped toward them. He ignored Chandra.       It's you, he said to Julie. His pointing finger shook furiously in the small space between them. It's all your fault.       Shut up, said Alex.       If it hadn't been for you, he said. Bitch. You bitches. You sluts, he said, looking from Alex to Julie, but not at Chandra, who was trembling and quietly repeating, Oh, oh, oh.       He picked up his own clothes, pulled the remaining things out of the drawers and crammed them in a gym bag. He took his time checking that he had everything he wanted, making that his final gesture. He moved toward them, then stopped and stood in front of Alex. He was about to say something but changed his mind. He glared at her.       Striking out suddenly, he hit her hard in the chest with his fist.       The sickening sound of bone and flesh against flesh reverberated through the room. Alex stumbled under the force of the blow. She rocked on her feet but didn’t fall.       He pushed past her. Strode to the door. He tore it open, and slammed it closed behind him. A second later, he slammed the front door of the warehouse as well. A cold silence rushed in to fill the vacuum he left behind.       Alex looked around at the destruction of her room, her world suddenly in ruins. She put her hand up to her chest where she’d been hit, where, beneath her dress, a dirty purple bruise was beginning to form.       One of the other tenants from upstairs came down and knocked on the door. Are you all right? he asked.       Alex, are you all right? asked Julie.       Yes, I'm all right, Alex said, holding herself as still as possible.       She's all right. Thanks.       Okay, he said. He went back upstairs.       Come down to my place, okay, said Chandra.       Alex didn't answer. Julie put her arm around her. She led her back to Chandra’s, holding her by her soft trembling hand. Alex sat down at the little table. She wasn't crying. There was no sign of tears, she was beyond that, shaking. Chandra took a blanket from the bed and put it around her shoulders as if she were a flood victim, dripping wet.       I'm sorry, Julie said. Alex didn't answer. Do you want me to call the police?       What? No, she said. Don’t call the police.       Okay, I won’t call the police.       No, don’t you dare call the police. I don’t want you to. Cops … God, she said, sneering.       All right, I won’t. See, I’m not calling the police.       Okay.       Okay, Julie said. Okay. But I saw everything, I could tell them for you.       No, Alex said. Forget it. Call Nikki.       Okay, if that’s what you want.       I want Nikki, said Alex. She put her head down on her arm and whispered, Nikki.       Julie dialled Nikki’s number. When she came on the line, Julie handed the phone to Alex. Alex took the phone into the other room.       Chandra and Julie stayed in the kitchen. Chandra took the bottle out of the cupboard, mixed three vodka tonics, and took the drinks out into the other room where she placed them on the table.       Alex gave them a look. I have to go now, she said into the phone, Mommy’s calling me.       She hung up the phone and glared at Julie.       Wait right here, Julie said.       She went out into the hall and then upstairs. It took her a minute to find Alex’s cigarettes. They were on the floor under a ripped dress. She picked them up and went back downstairs. She put the cigarettes and matches on the table beside Alex.       Alex took one out of the pack and tried, unsuccessfully, to light it. Julie took the matches out of her hand and struck one and held it to the end of the cigarette. Alex inhaled with deep concentration. She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. She blew the smoke out in a dense stream toward the ceiling.       They spent a restless night sitting at the table smoking and drinking. It got late.       Julie called Luc. Don’t worry, she said. We’ll be all right.       Do you want me to come over there?       No, it’s okay. It will be okay.       In the small sound that followed, she heard his relief. He didn’t want to get involved in what he thought of as women trouble. She hesitated. She felt a little guilty in case she had misjudged him. Then he hung up.       Julie sat down on the bed and in a little while she drifted off to sleep. She woke up just as dawn was beginning to light the room. Alex was no longer sitting at the table, waiting for the unknown. She was asleep beside Julie, with Chandra curled up beside her. Julie slipped off the bed, went to the window and pulled back the curtain. No stars were visible in the sky. It would be a little while yet, a while for sleeping, for gathering strength before it was morning. Alex sighed in the silence. Her sigh came to an end, and the silence flooded back into the room again. With the morning would come the passing away of her dreams. A sliver of light lit up her skin with an unearthly glow. Alex’s face was beautifully illuminated by the light of the new day rising.       Julie got up and made a pot of strong coffee. She poured herself a cup. She went back to the little table and sat down to watch the morning break through the space in the curtains.       Alex opened her eyes. Then she closed them again. She was resting from the exertion of those years. Resting from those first nights with Eddie in the hotel, from broken promises and the sound of the water in the bathroom rhythmically dripping into the sink.       Julie went back into the kitchen and got Alex and Chandra each a cup of coffee. She came back into the room carrying the cups. Alex opened her eyes a second time and her memory returned.       It's okay, Julie said. Everything will be all right. She handed her the cup.       It's not your fault, Alex said.       I know that.       Alex looked over at Chandra, still sound asleep.       It’s not her fault, said Julie.       Alex shrugged.       Julie watched Alex drink her coffee. She knew that was what Alex needed, strong coffee. It was that kind of morning. There was nothing better for it, for a day of freedom, after the night and its destruction.       It's not your fault, either. He lied to you, said Julie.       It took Alex a while before she could talk about what he’d done, and then she only talked about it briefly. Julie got very little out of her with her questions. She refused to let Julie see the bruise on her chest. Her hands clenched and she held her memories at rest, the tremor of violence in the body, in the eyes.       Love had entered, it struck with its usual force and its quiet, unavoidable devastation. Months later, Alex had looked up from the spoiled bed in Eddie’s hotel room to see the walls closing in around her, to hear the people in the next room whispering, restrained. She packed her things, his one suitcase, and moved him to the warehouse. She was preoccupied with an idea of the distant future without recognizing the rickety furniture of the present. His old friends at the hotel sadly discussed the ruin of men by women. Alex hardly slept. She’d given up on insomnia remedies. She sat out the empty hours reading and watching late-night tv. Late-night tv was a place where insomniacs were relieved of the idea that insomnia was a problem. It became a choice, and its sufferers became the chosen. She enjoyed drifting off at dawn within the safe realm of the rising sun, a sun so benign that no crime could be committed beneath it.       In some veiled way, she felt she was reaching a point of perfection. She made a promise to herself that enabled her to hold her head above the waves of despair. She was undertaking a transformation. She was turning into a beauty queen. She was becoming the embodiment of her desire to be looked at, to be known, to destroy. To be known as a destroyer, as possessing the feminine trait of ruthlessness, in abundance. She wouldn’t do anything normal any more, or get along with anyone outside of her chosen crew. From that moment, she was determined that she would only scheme, extort, extract and pry out of the hands of others whatever it was she needed in order to live. She would find the people who had the means to give it to her and she would trick, lie, seduce, do whatever was necessary, to wring it out of them. It would be easier to do on the sly, of course, with a few compliments, easier to charm, to hoodwink.       With the creation of this blueprint for the future, she felt her power returning.       Alex exhaled. In that breath, as light as poppies in the breeze, was the dissolution of what she had so lately come to think of contemptuously as her weakness, that which others call sweetness, or, sometimes, humanity. Do you want to go for a walk or something? said Julie.       A look of fury passed across Alex’s face. She roused her body as if she were about to get up and leave the room, but didn't. She and Nikki exchanged a look. They laughed softly, excluding the other two from their shared moment of understanding.       Are you all right? Are you going to be all right? … Okay. Let’s go out for a drink. Let’s do that. We can’t just sit here, said Julie.       Yeah, okay. Let’s go get a drink, Alex said.       She took Julie by the hand and led her outside. She still wasn’t exactly talking to Chandra. However, she didn’t try to prevent her from going with them. They walked for several minutes down the street. Alex turned the wrong corner and Julie corrected her. Alex got lost so easily, it made Julie feel protective of her.       They went to the nearest pool hall, chose a table and set up a game. A man came over to them and turned on the bright light above the table.       That's okay, Alex said. We like to play in the dark. She turned the light off again.       The men didn't know what to make of the women playing billiards in the shadows, putting quarters in the jukebox, looking serious and pretty, too pretty for that place. Eventually, the girls got so frustrated with the number of men helping them out that they gave up and played with the fluorescent light on, burning down mercilessly on their skulls as they bent over their shots with their hair falling in their eyes and their dresses falling open at the neck.       It was just before dawn. They were all four exhausted. The taxi idled in the street. Julie put the change from the fare in her pocket. Alex, with the grace of a dancer, lifted her hand and slapped Julie on the side of the head, sending her hair, with its fragrance of rose petals, across her cheek, veiling her eyes. Julie turned to her.       Chandra was getting out of the cab and had missed this small slap, meant to bind through submission.       In case the caress, delivered so lightly and without provocation, was mistaken for a joke, Alex repeated it. She followed it with the humble bow of a diva.       The cab driver and Nikki, who was sitting in the front, turned to look over the back of the seat.       Julie brushed her hair out of her eyes. With the same tenderness as her friend, she slapped Alex on the cheek. The slap reverberated through the night like the sound of the lake splashing on the rocks along the shore.       Alex dropped her playfulness, along with her purse.       Under her breath she said, Who do you … think … you are?       The simple words, delivered with regal assurance, were a call to arms. She let fly with both hands, slapping Julie on the face and head, a little battery of punishment, but still holding her strength in check so that the slaps landed like wasp stings, leaving behind a trail of red marks.       Chandra turned and saw the two of them, their delicate hands in the air, some childish game gone badly. Oh, you two, she said.       Julie used one hand to shield her eyes, and with the other tried to push Alex away. Every gesture of self-protection infuriated Alex, and she hit out at Julie fast and dirty. Their hands, thrown upward like bouquets, accompanied by the sound of feminine protests, had an erotic charm. The cab driver was enjoying himself. So was Nikki, but for her own reasons.       Chandra looked into the cab, then down the deserted street. She had been excluded, even from this violence, an exchange of great intimacy brought about by the pain of love. She longed to be so bruised, so needed.       Alex hadn’t expected Julie to resist. Had depended on her pliancy, her instant forgiveness, her Catholic heart. This mutiny terrified her, and she meant to crush it. She felt blood engorge her limbs. She conscripted her whole body as a weapon and threw herself on Julie with nail-scratching ferocity. She slapped her across the face. She pulled her hair. Alex wanted to remove any doubt as to who was in charge. Her skirt twisted and tore. Her slender ankle thrust toward the door, and her sandal fell onto the road.       Chandra reached down and picked it up, cradling it against her chest. Come on, you two … Cut it out, she said, her voice trembling.       Alex clenched her hands into small hard fists. Her chiffon blouse had been ripped, the scalloped edge of her lace bra was exposed. With a look of desperation, she punched Julie, the girl of her dreams, in the mouth.       Julie covered her face with both hands.       I don’t believe it. You gave me a fat lip. Jesus, Mary and Joseph!       Julie tried to protect herself by flailing about with soft slaps that merely crowned Alex like a daisy chain. Julie’s hand skimmed off her shoulder to little effect.       Alex, furious, pulled away. She reached out and grabbed her shoe from Chandra. Slipping it back on her foot, she climbed daintily out of the taxi. Julie got out after her. They stood facing each other. Essentially unhurt, except for Julie’s throbbing lip. They looked as though they’d been through some catastrophe, with their ripped clothes, smudged makeup and messy, tangled hair.       Chandra took her keys out of her purse and opened the door to the warehouse. Alex gave Julie one final maternal smack from behind that sent her forward over the step. Silently, they went inside. The taxi drove off.       Nikki had a small smile of satisfaction on her face. She followed the others into the studio.       Julie was overcome with exhaustion. She slipped out of her clothes and crawled into bed. Chandra got into the big bed next to her.       Alex kicked off her high heels with a hostile lassitude. In the bathroom, she changed into Chandra’s robe. She went back into the main room and slumped down onto the couch beside Nikki. She muttered something about the nerve of some people. Nikki offered Alex a cigarette. They leaned against the back of the sofa, blowing smoke up into the rafters.       The women were committed, had been from the first drink. They shared each other’s fate. Only their skin still kept them separate. By two in the afternoon, Alex had been awake for an hour, had dressed and undressed out of five different outfits. She had consumed a glass of water, a grilled cheese sandwich, two mini bottles of Bailey’s, a Valium, and then another for good measure. Two diet pills. She had smoked five cigarettes. She stood up and then sat down immediately. She was set off balance by unexpected nerves in anticipation of being alone with Luc. She shook them off. She allowed herself to feel her physical strength rising up. She stood, twirling past him, the better to see her power reflected in his eyes. Photographed in black and white, the little yards with fences that were bordered with marigolds would have looked like charming gardens. Along the way there was the occasional giant tree, hundreds of years old, neglected in the general post-war razing of the neighbourhood.       Julie pulled with both hands on the heavy door of the warehouse. The shaft of light that entered illuminated a comet’s tail of twinkling dust particles. She slipped quietly past Chandra’s door and continued upstairs to Alex’s.       Alex opened the door a crack and peered out at her.       What’s the matter? Are you all right? asked Julie.       You can’t come in.       What’s wrong with you? Just for a second.       No, forget it, I’m busy.       Why. What’s up? What’s the matter with you?       Nothing, get lost. I’ll see you later. With a smile and a little wink, she closed the door.       Julie back went downstairs to Chandra’s and knocked on her door. Chandra welcomed her inside. She was in the middle of a painting. She was dabbed all over in blues, and the studio reeked of turpentine. Alex stood stiffly, as if she could take only the smallest, most shallow breaths. She imagined that she was being held upright by the whalebone of her grandmother’s corset. Her breasts were forced upwards and onto display by the stays confining her ribs. She was proud but also ashamed of such emblems of femininity. She pictured herself in primitive body armour encrusted with rough-cut emeralds and seed pearls.       Luc stood up, dropping the book he held in his hand. He shifted his weight, resting on one foot and then the other. The muscles in his legs relaxed, unlocking the mechanism that had kept his focus fixed on some indeterminate mark on the floor. He turned his head, gently, not moving his chest, and looked at Alex calmly, waiting.       With his shirt open at the neck, the hollow of his clavicle laid itself open to be kissed.       Don’t go and ruin it all now, she said. That’s it. We’re never telling, are we? Alex dropped her voice. She was pleased that she sounded like an old boozehound at twenty. She smiled with her lips closed. Her hair was enveloped in ribbons of smoke from the cigarette she held at shoulder height.       His head jerked slightly as he glanced away. The tendon in his neck was visible beneath his small ear.       Julie never asked him for anything. It wasn’t a question of telling. She didn’t ask him about the phone calls he made. She trusted him. A small smile escaped from him. She forgave him. It occurred to him that it was her own fault. She was negligent. Guilty of negligence.       Alex gave freedom to her nervous velocity. She moved around her little world as though she were entertaining, an actress onstage, oblivious to her audience, her conscripts.       Alex’s energy and theatrical posing made Luc feel a bit tired out. It was too much like work to keep up with her. It distracted him from his usual feeling of loneliness. And that made him nervous.       She took a step toward him.       Unconsciously, he took a step away. He turned his back on her and leaned against the dresser. His eyelids fluttered. He held himself still. He was less and less able to understand what she was saying. He felt like he was being slowly smothered under feather pillows. He waited, not knowing what to do. A thought came to him that he felt a terrible urgency to make known to Julie. It was a thought that lived with him every day, so common he hadn’t noticed it. Its unexpected appearance excited him. She was good for him. She was his saviour, his sweetheart. He loved her.       He looked at the objects on the dresser. He flicked his finger across a peacock feather in a vase. He had heard her go into Chandra’s place. Maybe he’d just go downstairs and explain things to her. Why not? He could do that. He was good at that.       He hesitated.       Alex continued to talk. She didn’t seem to notice that he wasn’t listening.       He was lost in his own thoughts and didn’t hear her. He picked up a beautiful piece of quartz. Its smooth planes were shot through with purple veins, its weight and texture organic and precise.       Please, he whispered, come on. The request seemed to him to provide some sweet clarity. He felt as if he were about to capture the soul of the problem. He tossed the quartz in the air once, caught it, put it back on the dresser.       An idea floated beneath his consciousness, anxious to break the surface, to propel itself into the brilliant light of day. He felt it, poised on the verge of birth. Love.       A glittering jewel caught his attention. A little raven in flight, its wings studded with sparkling rhinestones. He picked it up. It was a hatpin. He turned it over in his hand; it twinkled, reflecting the light.       Please, he said in a whisper. Alex is driving me crazy. Do something. Julie, do something.       There was a silence. Short, but terrible.       What did you say? What the hell did you just say, Alex shouted.       He seemed to be unaware of her. She looked at his back, at the elegant curve of his spine. In it, she suddenly saw the precise skeleton of his betrayal.       Hey, are you listening to me? … All right, honey, she said, in an angry, mocking tone. Her jealousy, like a disease in remission, rose up to slaughter everything healthy in her body.       Furious, she reached out and grabbed the nearest thing, the first thing her fingers touched, a heavy lamp. She yanked it from the wall and threw it at Luc.       It seemed to her that before it had even left her hand, the lamp had cracked in half with an ugly sound against the back of his skull. She felt heartless, vindicated, as he pitched forward. The lamp continued its trajectory and fell to pieces on the cement floor. The ceramic particles bounced up and sprayed across the room.       Luc stood hunched over the dresser. He took a deep breath. A pain shot through his heart. He felt that something had gone terribly wrong. What was it? What was it, exactly? He turned. Without looking at Alex, without seeing the expression of outrage on her blood-drained face, he made for the stairs.       Beautiful, he whispered, remembering something Julie had said. A beautiful person.       He ran down the stairs noiselessly, taking short, difficult breaths. Outside, the sun shone down on his naked head. He had a dull ache at the back of his skull. It was probably nothing. With each inhalation, the pain in his lungs was worse. It was the hurt in his chest that worried him.       He stopped. He needed a cigarette to calm down. He went around the side of the building to light his smoke, out of the warm breeze that had suddenly sprung up. He struck the match and lit it. He had the feeling that he was forgetting something. What was it? A throbbing in his chest reminded him.       He didn’t have the guts to pull the pin out. He’d just finish his smoke. Then he’d go to Emergency.       Nausea eroded his willpower. He slunk down to the ground with his back against the hot brick wall. He looked down at the thing. It looked like a broach attached to his shirt, if you didn’t know better. He was ashamed that a pretty decoration had so wounded him. That women had so wounded him.