I felt sick and dizzy, and the cigarette was like a cheap knock-off of nepenthe, just barely enough to dull the urge to slit my throat with my “Hell..., my name is” pin. I felt anxious and uneasy and uncomfortable, like there was an itch stuck underneath my skin that wouldn’t go away. I kind of felt like jacking off behind the dumpster, too, but I’m not sure if it was more horniness or boredom.I rubbed idly at my crotch. I hadn’t gotten any, and certainly not anything good, in a long time. Lying. Kop...”“Katie, please.”“Katie, I need to beg a little time. My ankle is killing me.”“We can ship them?”“I need the time away ... and I want some balsam fir poles.”“Need the time away?”“Finding out who I am.”“That I can understand.”“I’ll be out as soon as I can walk. But I need to make other calls.”“They’ll be ready when you are.”“That’s three Cheyenne eighteens. Right?”“Cheyenne? You didn’t specify Cheyenne.”“Sorry about that.”“Let me look.”She was off the line for about two minutes. While I. More

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