We decided to have the abortion, became killers together. The period that came changed nothing. They were dead, that young couple who had been for life. As we talked of it in bed, the crash was not a surprise. We went to the window, looked at the crushed cars and the gleaming curved shears of glass as if we had done it. Cops pulled the bodies out Bloody as births from the small, smoking aperture of the door, laid them on the hill, covered them with blankets that soaked through. Blood began to pour down my legs into my slippers. I stood where I was until they shot the bound form into the black hole of the ambulance and stood the other one up, a bandage covering its head, stained where the eyes had been. The next morning I had to kneel an hour on that floor, to clean up my blood, rubbing with wet cloths at those glittering translucent spots, as one has to soak a long time to deglaze the pan when the feast is over.