[ The floral reds hide the blood; he looks sane again — at a distance. Though large the shirt constricts at his broad chest all the same. He pulls it off well, anyway. The Miami hitman look. ]
Killer.
[ She is invited in. Eli places the crinkled bag on the table and produces sandwiches, bottled water; stuff to tide him over for the evening. She pulls a six-pack of beer from the bag by the cardboard packaging and steps backwards, her shoulders to a wall the off-white shade of her shirt, her eyes lowered. ]
no subject
Killer.
[ She is invited in. Eli places the crinkled bag on the table and produces sandwiches, bottled water; stuff to tide him over for the evening. She pulls a six-pack of beer from the bag by the cardboard packaging and steps backwards, her shoulders to a wall the off-white shade of her shirt, her eyes lowered. ]
Is the blood ... yours?