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their shells. Only Donald, like
his mother, is obviously elsewhere.
I AM ON MY WAY
To check on his whereabouts
when the telephone rings. No
one else bothers, so I answer.
Hello? Who the fuck is this?
The always pleasant Ron.
I want to talk to Kristina.
“Uh, this is Hunter.” Wonder
if he even knows who I am.
“And Kristina isn’t here.”
I swear I can almost hear anger
swelling, pewter, in the silence.
Well, where the fuck is she?
My own temper kindles.
“I don’t know where she is,
Ron. She’s not my prob—”
She’s out fucking around on
me, isn’t she? Who is she with?
I swear, I’ll kick her ass.
“You already did that, dude.
Look. She isn’t here. I haven’t
seen her since last Christmas.”
Don’t lie to me, you little shit,
or I’ll kick your ass too. His
voice is a cougar’s sharp hiss.
His threat doesn’t scare me,
but it does piss me off. “You’re
going back to jail, you know….”
