A young operative before the night took hold.

Nothing bartered beyond this point; you and that untenable smile, legions of bound and demoted angels weaving their plaintive wails into the breeze. I ordered another glass of wine and sat back, trying to remember a reference for my pose. Suddenly, it didn't matter---the lies, the pallid vows in a kiln ablaze; all of it the last flakes of some dead winter dissolving into your tongue like acid.