from the container store in a fucking temp-controlled storage facility in east hanover.
DNR: Dude . . .
BRB: What? should I feel guilty?
DNR: No dude. That was months ago. He’s torturing himself. He likes
it, fat pig.
DNR: i want sushi
BRB: good or dirty?
BRB: I feel weird about it
DNR: Okay so go be his GF. Tell him to leave his wife and go live with
him and wash his XXL undies and make him Hungry Man din-
ners and go to islands with him and watch him wading around in a
beautiful pool with his big polka-dot trunks and watch other cou-
ples, hot guys and hot girls, watch them watching you and think-
ing, Whoa he must be super rich, but then they’ll be like, Why
are they here, at this fuckin discount hole with us? And it’ll be
because he paid out alimony to his dumbshit wife and he doesn’t
even have money so you’ll just be the sex slave to some nice big fat
man who once packed away all your dead parents’ shit. Yay!
BRB: Fuck OK
DNR: Meet me at Hannam
He’d changed her e-mail password from her phone. And she didn’t fig-
ure it out for nearly two days. For starters, she’d had to get over the
shock that he’d wanted to kill her. She knew that was his plan. But he
couldn’t. He’d knocked her out and touched between her legs and licked
his fingers and harbored the hope that one day, when dragons ruled the
world, she would need him again. If she lost everything, she would find
him again, and he would make it all OK. She knew that. She knew he
would take her. No matter what, Joe would be there.
“Can I put on Moana on for my daughter?” BRB asked. She knew where
they were headed. She could picture the exact thicket where she was
going to lose her life.
In the rearview she saw the child’s eyes light up.
“On the radio?” the man said. “Jesus, the fuckin’ stink.”