Bomb whisperer? What the fuck…where do you come up with this shit?

So what's it whispering to you now, huh?

It's saying get your fuckin hands off me, Sanborn. I like Will's hands. They know what the fuck they're doing.

That right?

Damn straight. It's kind of like a woman. You gotta know where the switch is. You think your fumble-ass fingers know where the switch is?

But you don't want it to explode. Yeah? I don't know if your metaphor works, there, James.

Fuck you.

He's in the truck, slipstream of soft green fragrant wind blowing through the cabin, half-listening to the hum of wheels on the tarmac. Blurred miles, time getting all jammed up in the tailpipe. He flicks a cigarette butt out the window and watches the sparks recede.

"It's like a siren. I dunno, man, it's like…shit. That tick tick tick you don't hear in the fuckin movies? It's caught in me. A deep breath, like a dream where you're awake inside it and can do whatever the fuck you want."

Girl in a bar. Loud music. Just a girl in a bar. But she's leaning forward. She's got her chin in her hand. She's looking in his eyes. She's listening.

And there it is.

Yeah? Is that fuckin right?


What the hell kind of answer is that?

Sanborn? Whisper this.

"And then it's like a…a key. It turns, you know, and everything's open. It's all there. Shit makes sense. You're gonna die anyway, right? Everyone owes exactly one death. You only do it once. So it can't be that bad. Right?"

Things are soft. Things slide. Girl In A Bar turns into Girl Giving A Messy Blowjob In The Back Parking Lot. It feels good, but wants to laugh.

Let them into your pants and they might listen. They think it's their duty to, think a little head is what you're really after when it's no, no, please, honey, just listen to me. Open your face and let the words in. These stories, they are my life. This is me made out of words. Don't shut them out with chopped carrots.

He looks at his hand, his fingers twined in her cheap blonde hair, the shadows made out of neon lights. He blinks.

It's okay.


It's okay. Think about a girl if you want.


Other guys do it too. It's okay.

I don't know if I want to. Think about a girl. Is it still okay?

Yeah. Yeah.

He's loose, all loose inside and sloshing about, but he'll be tight again. He feels his skin waiting for the liquor to wear off and his heart to slow. He wants to sleep.

There's an old watch in the glove box. There's a quarry twenty miles away and some C-4. He thinks it'll make a fine timer.