They knew the end was near. The bartender turned up the lights, turned down the music, and picked up an ax. As inevitable as the rising sun.

They met on the front porch. She was in her yoga clothes. He was drunk and disheveled. A squirrel ran by them. You and your yoga, he slurred

He is proud of his strong chin, an inheritance passed down from generations. She is unmoved by it. It can’t take out the garbage, she notes.

He grew up in a modest home. He stole flowers for his girlfriend. The press called him “The Gangster of Love.” The judge hated Steve Miller.