Look at these people, these happy people … so beautiful, yet so drunk.
The first went down outside the ladies room, my blade smooth along her halter-top’s tan line. So young, she cut like butter.
I left the next looking like a fall, so good to hear the snap of her neck, and the thump of her head on each stair.
The third was older, but quick. She saw my blade; in one glance her eyes revealed a lifetime of anger and frustration. I felt the snap of my wrist, pain in my eye, then a warm trickle, down my cheek.