He'll zip me inside an airtight bag. Smother my airways with my own underwear. The idea keeps me up at night. I say, next time, I promise I'll wash my hands after I handle money. Next time, I promise I won't scratch where it itches.
Nothing attracts more parasites than the deceased.
I know it wouldn't be difficult to take those dresses and the guinea pig and go to the ocean. In books, people with failing health return to the ocean. Salt air is good for the heart. I could sit in a chair on the sand and breathe. I could swim.