Sitting now. Sitting across from her, watching raindrops roll off her nose. I want to ask her something, but I'm not sure I want to know the answer. Still ...
"Why?"
My voice is raw and pained. It hurts to utter a single word. She stares at me through a veil of rain, cold and wet, never-ending.
"I'm a murderer!" she spits out with disgusted irony.
“What?” I bark, rain running in thick ropes down my face, into my mouth.
Around us the storm is escalating, growing louder, hissing and howling.
"I had hungry babies to feed," she begins. "I became a thief out of necessity. When I got caught red-handed, I killed a man to get away. Man happened to be a cop. And we all know how that goes, don’t we? Doesn't seem to matter that most the cops in this town are nothin' but hoods themselves. I've
