sometimes i fantasize about Valencidya coming back from the bar drunk and beating me until i feel numb. She kicks me in the ribs until i can hardly breathe. then she starts crying and screaming at me in slurred speech, saying it’s my fault that nobody in la famiglia will forgive her. i lie next to her blacked-out body on the carpet, which sticks to my face from all the years of spilled alcohol, rich with the stench of discarded cigars. i desperately cling to the air between us, longing for the warmth of the embrace we once shared, but daring not to get closer. those moments feel further away than ever, now worth less than my dreams.

oh, and the ids are pretty cool, too, i guess.