Killerkitti

We're all doomed. My grandfather said that yesterday in the hospital, staring up at me through a morphine fog, thumb wearily resting on the button giving him the injections. I guess he was right. Julia was doomed as soon as I invited her into my apartment in March, shoulders back, smiling. I was doomed the moment I found her tooth brush in my bathroom cabinet. We were doomed the moment she turned over in bed, away from my touch, feigning sleep, eyes clearly open in that last moment before her face rolled under the covers. I get out of bed to get a glass of water but instead end up accidentally sitting at the computer and listening to Lemuria

     “Autumn is coming and you know what that means.”     “No.”     “Oh.”     “Aren't you going to tell me?”     “No, I don't think so. There's no fun in that.”     These were the sort of conversations I was having with my sister recently, sitting on a dock at Lake Michigan, smoking our father's cigarettes and counting the seconds between each seagull squawk. She said that you could tell how hungry they were by how often they cried and I decided this was probably a lie. She had also told me my grandfather was a satanist and in the S.S.     Back in town, grampa was buying a skin mag