It's just that I have been missing something my whole life, and I would like a taste of your milk. Thin salt tears stream down her face. The baby, asleep in the crib, makes no sound. With his right hand he holds the barrel of the gun to the soft hair at her temple, and with his left hand he unbuttons her blouse and opens the flap of her nursing bra. He bends his whole body to catch the warm liquid that beads at the tip of the round breast.
Tongue presses tenderly to nipple.
An infinite time. The arm with the gun pulls away, drops away from her. Now the salt tears streak his face. I don't remember that at all, he says. His mouth twists in disgust.