She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment. ‘You see, it is that I am a female, and you all are men. “We pretend bodies are ugly. ’ ‘Is it, now? Well you won’t, then, for he won’t hear nothing, missie.
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