candy va —「d8. fin. cb」

In the dim rehearsal room, between touch ups and the passing of a fruity juul, one of the boys told him this: Candy, you’d kill for love.

Who is to say he hasn’t?

There is a second mouth within him that was born wanting. Insatiable Candy, unstoppable Candy, he’d eat the world raw if he could, rip it bloody between his rows of perfect teeth. If you want to watch, buy a ticket, help a boy out. He has always been sensational at putting on a show if it involves baring her hunger, like one of those circus animals that have performances dedicated to eating. Put your heart on a platter, let him dig in.

His death row meal would be to be loved by everyone. He’d eat that up and leave no crumbs. None! And if he has to kill for that, why not? There are people out there who had done worse for lesser dreams, smaller ambitions. Blood is a token in Eight, free currency. Don’t believe him? Take a searchlight and shine it on the old alley behind the club. Every week, with a interminable consistency, there is a new body stashed there that they have to ring the morgue to pick up. After a while, these only become shapes in the dark. Another tedious phone call.

That is the reason he keeps his hunger alive. You get sated and safe with a fully belly, and that is how the world gets you and crushes you mercilessly between its teeth.

Candy, you’d kill for love.

Yes, and he’d make sweet love to its corpse on the autopsy table if it means he gets loved in return. If it means he won’t be eaten alive in return.