I think I was going to start struggling. Flew up like fucking birds, straight up. Requiem was just sitting in the backseat, with his hands clasped in his lap. Usually something he didn't want to do.
I feel guilty enough without knowing the future. One disaster at a time, or you get overwhelmed. It was as if Malcolm read my mind, or I read his, because he moved toward the door. I was too rough.
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