JILL
Give me blood.
GIVE Liquor store too f*****g small ME too many tight aisles, BLOOD grab a mickey of Ballantine’s and walk out, part of me wishing my elbows were sharper, that I could just let me be visible dangerous unafraid. Bigger. Darker. Definitive. I want to leave a trail of blood, the thing in my gut. Okay, a little bit of me too.
How dare you, I kept repeating to myself. How dare you.
Drag my soles to Paul Kane Park, taking swigs along the way. INVADED. Infected. Shaking my head sharply, as if something was threaded in my hair, as if hoping something would fall out of my ear. Too many thoughts. And all this time … what you owe me … What had I been doing all this time? Placeholding. Human kludge. How did I wind up in another obedient role, conditional, where I had to survive
