evening 1. I find hot fruit. pluck it.

Audrey liked ice cream.

she liked good causes. she worked at the Clam part time and always kept the shelves well stocked. she liked Proust and bus stations. I found her at a bus station. she was fresh as warm fruit in the winter evening.

she smelled like jade looks.

I had to carve her up and find out what that tastes like.

They have synth machines at the club near campus and when the synch machine gets kicking its electric pillow and the beat knocks your heart around your chest until all your thoughts start to march in time, that is what it feels like: That is what it feels like when The Monster wakes up and gets you walking toward your next meal. I had been thinking about Bursar fees and iced coffee and Darfur, and then all those thoughts began marching in time. I walked across the street from the hotel to the bus station to where Audrey stood under the cold lamps like warm fruit on the platter of a bus bench.

I did not know what I was doing. That is important. It is important to bear that in mind. I did not know what I was doing.

The Monster knew just what to do.

I introduced myself, sweet as you please. She did not introduce herself; we did not really know each other. I asked her about bus schedules. I seemed nervous.

I was not nervous I did not know what I was doing The Monster did.

I told her I needed to call home to tell mother I would be late. I fumbled in my purse. My Blackberry fell out and hit the ground at Audrey's feet. She bent to help me pick it up.

I drew out what I had in my purse while she was bent over. Syringes always feel heavier when they're loaded with Acepromazine. I slipped the point of it into her neck as she bent over. I introduced it to her carotid artery, sweet as you please.

The plunger dropped. Audrey dropped. I took hold of her by the arms and slipped her into a fireman's carry like they teach you in girl scouts.

They teach you it to help people. It was time to help myself to the taste of jade nectar.

she felt as light as a good habit as I carried her across the street and up to the top of the hotel.

On the roof, we got to really know each other.

The gag was barbed wire. The blind fold was duct tape. Rappelling lines bound her hands and feet. I did not need her to speak or see. I needed to really get to know her, and those things would just get in the way.

The roof smelled like carbon monoxide shampoo and old dogs. Only for a little, though. Only as I cut off her clothing. She struggled like a bug does when you put a pin through its thorax. It made me like her less; it stirred up the stinking broth of the city.

I decided to make this hurt. I looked into my purse to see what pain I had there.

I didn't know what I was doing. These things just happen; they are just there, and I stumble across them. I step on them or brush my fingers over them and then it all makes sense. They are important things - they keep the world turning. I do not want the world to end, and so when I find them, and they tell me what to do, I have to do it.

I was surprised as anyone when I found the full pack of cigarettes. Newport lights. Had I bought them from Audrey? Is that why I had been interested in her? I seemed to recall. Memory was less important than what finding them told me had to happen.

I used the full pack of cigarettes on her face. I lit every one and put it out on that shiny new face until it looked ruined and bad. I did it so that the world would keep turning and babies would wake up in the morning and the men in orange jackets could do their important work repairing the city.

At least I think I did.

I know I cut her open so that I did not have to smell the city any more. I know I took her breasts off and put them on the air conditioner so that it would make the hotel air a bit warmer. I know I put my hand in her because I wanted to.

After, I was cold and after, I bathed in what came out of her so that I was warm again, and after, I threw her off of the roof because I was done with her.

I already knew how she would struggle, because she did struggle. I knew what her tears tasted like. I knew the taste of her vomit. I knew she liked ice cream, or at least I think I do. I don't know how I know that. I didn't know what I was doing. I just knew that after I had her wallet pictures stowed away and the meat was jiggling on the radio and the synth box in my chest was winding down like a precious old watch, I was done.

I watched her fall all the way off the roof. Twisting and fluttering like an origami swan in flight. I wanted to see her all the way gone. We had gotten to really know each other. We had really gotten along. she liked good causes and so do I.

And she had liked ice cream. I will always remember that.

At least I think I will.

I didn't really know what I was doing.