How could someone is easily hurt be attracted to someone who feels nothing for the world? Three cigarettes gone with the fourth burning slowly. I hear the carrion rotting upon the doorstep. The birds of prey gnashing at the flesh. Chrysanthemum sleeps on the couch, naked. The tuft of pubic hair peaking from the thin sheet. “The wine is stale,” Anderson says. Body gleaming with a passionate sweat. “I love myself more when my thoughts are silent,” I say, not meaning anything. “I love being in control of the situations I find myself.” And I have no regard for others. Not for Chrysanthemum. Not for Anderson. “What do you feel, Mackie?” the therapist asked. Slender creature. Might’ve been a beauty in her day.…