"...why did you come back?" he asks me, slurring, brain thick with wine and smoke and all manner of downtown shit. I grit my teeth, grind my left canine against the salt-tip of my tongue until it bleeds. The recycled bubble-city air is stale like empty corners and newspapers blowing in the wind.
"Dumb fuck." I wheeze out, hoarse on the black, tarry fire I kindled and fondled and spewed into the quiet night "We're all we've got."
He doesn't reply. I lug his arm higher across my shoulder, ignoring the searing burn where his skin meets mine, and keep walking.
What else can I do?
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