The girls/boys/girls owned the stage. They completely lost themselves somewhere in gender-confused rock goddess/god/goddess mania. Nobody except for Donald seemed to understand and appreciate the importance of the moment they were witnessing. He sopped up the way the lights flashed across their faces and how they thrust their hips in startling unity. 

I must have been thinking about Jenna. There’s no other reason I would’ve driven out to the desert. I had run through all my usual imaginary conversations with her before I finally stopped and got out of the car. I don’t think I could find that place again if I tried. Except for a few big rocks and some scruffy plants, there was nothing around but the gentle curve of the earth and the sandy mountains on the horizon. 

Ramesh looked down, shook his head. The leader grabbed Ramesh’s right wrist and pinned it to the table, palm down. With the other hand, he jerked Ramesh’s smallest finger backwards until the joint snapped. Ramesh screamed, his finger bent upward at an unnatural angle.

The leader sat and watched Ramesh weather the waves of pain. “Mr. Patel,” he said, “will you help us now?" 

And suddenly he knew what she was going to say. A shiver went down his back. He had an immediate urge to get up and clamp his hand over her mouth. And yet he wanted her to say it. 

The miniature pinscher bit the air while everyone ping-ponged their weirdness around the room. Marie waffled. 
    "Maybe I'll smell his feet when I get home." 

It was almost Christmas, and the convenience store across the street had recently put a single plastic candle behind the bars in the front window. It hummed to me. “Jackson, you’re a good man.”

“No,” he said and he kept drinking. “No, I’m not.” 

I just want you to know that I completely trust you with that small arsenal of thermonuclear warheads. I know that glowing red button that’s only a few precious centimeters from your hand could be pushed at any moment. And I’m sure that pushing that button would do exactly what I’m thinking it would do. There’s no question that  you know what you’re doing here. 

The Germans loved it, clearly not understanding a word, or how she was covertly insulting each of them in turn. They only saw it as private attention as opposed to a jibe at their weight, womanising or whichever lyric best fit the solider being sung to. When it was the General’s turn, Blanche swayed her hips over towards him and began to subversively serenade him. 

7 brothers are waiting for the bus, a woman in a ski mask rips the smallest child into her Subaru, she drives headlong into swirling mist.

7 Lucky Gods somewhere do or do not exist.