We got in and she smiled at me. “Are you feeling amorous?” “When you’re around, I’m always feeling amorous.”She leaned over and kissed me... “You know all the right things to say, don’t you?” “I try.” “Would you like to see my tits?”“I’d love to.” She pulled her top up, exposing her bra. “You have fantastic tits, Christina.” “Thanks,” she said and jiggled them in her bra, “they’re not bad, are they?”She reached in and popped her left one free of its lacy prison. I quickly looked around, to. Silence. Are there winners and losers when all you’re doing is fighting a thousand twisted versions yourself? The only thing I’m sorry about is seeing them and… not so much remembering them, but feeling them. They push and push, forcing sensations and emotions on me. Sins. Pains. Guilty pleasures. Raging hate. A nickel-plated pistol. Rain slick streets. Five bodies. A river of crimson. Each version of me has its own jagged scar, its own story to tell. Dimly lit clubs. Drugs I can’t even. More

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