Belling had always seemed to be dressed in expensive suits, killing people via suggestion and disdain. I was always covered in blood and bile, pinned under fat guys who never bathed. It was enough to make me question my approach.
I felt pretty good, despite being sick to my stomach, way too old, friendless, and sitting in a urine-soaked rad suit so heavy it was smothering me by increments. I felt at peace.
It was fucking amazing. Even as the world wound down, going still, all the assholes in the world were hard at work making everything more complicated, and more complicated, and then fucking more complicated.
Just flat ass take off running, pushing the dead folk around like a right winger bitch slapping the Constitution.
Goddamn God hounds. Sorriest bastards ever squatted to shit over a pair of boots.
Sunrise is coming through the windows and the breaks in the door and walls, and it's lighting them up like Christians at the Coliseum on the Emperor's birthday.