Hi again Bill,

The city has been set on fire and the burning went on for 10 long days & nights. Madness and hysterica everywhere, old lovers quarrelling over nothing and almost killing each other. The smell of piss and beer warmed up by the sun in the afternoon and the taste of cheap dope in the back of your throat. Loud music, suspicious looks, a sudden flash of understanding. Let’s go home, Bill … Please …

You know I hate to ask. You know it and you still make me do it and I will do it until I stop doing it. Then you will have lost me and you’ll blame me and every other woman on this fucking planet. See if I care Bill, but chances are I don’t. I mean, not anymore.

I don’t know what you want from me. Maybe you didn’t want anything from me to begin with. Besides the occasional fuck, of course. Or did you think you were special? Different from any other guy that sees me and reduces me to a fine piece of ass, or tits, or cunt, or whatever. I guess you weren’t. Not different and not special. Almost ordinary and common. Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re all right. It just doesn’t keep me warm in the middle of the night.

Back to the old question again. Am I asking too much? Or are you giving too little? Too late? I guess you don’t know me. I guess you never did. If you did, you’d know I’d never do those things you want me to do. Like take up your space and time and your precious money. I’d rather die, Bill. But then again Bill, aren’t you already killing me slowly? Not softly, but quite surely …

Bye Bill …

Uma