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Snatches of wild grass poke up through rubble and I stomp over them, crushing all underfoot in my combat boots. Irises dripping icicles to ward off the petri, bacterium of this obsolete afterworld . . .

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Come night, I’ll count my bullets in peace (five tall: porcelain-painted, pretty as crackledile teeth… Five—that’s one for each loudmouth and one left over, just in case…)

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The youngers have settled on a crescent-shaped stage where an army of projectors once beamed down pinpricks of light to create a holographic midnight extravaganza. Even though it was the largest and most expensive production in Merrymouseland’s roster of shows, it was the only one without any actual real actors. You’d think the parade, with all its ornate confetti-sloughing floats, ridiculous one-man bands, costumes and towering stilted jugglers, would take the cake but it turns out optical illusions are the most costly of all.

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