The sports arena Julie calls home is unaccountably large, perhaps one of those dual-event 'super venues' built for an era when the greatest quandary facing the world was where to put all the parties.

What's wrong with people?" she says, almost too quiet for me to hear. "Were they born with parts missing or did it fall out somewhere along the way?

Even in my bravest moment, I am a coward.

How do I appear unthreatening when her lover's blood is running down my chin?

I notice faint scars on her wrists and forearms, thin lines too symmetrical to be accidents.

But it does make me sad that we've forgotten our names. Out of everything, this seems to me the most tragic. I miss my own and I mourn for everyone else's, because I'd like to love them, but I don't know who they are.

If there are rules, we're the ones making them. We can change them whenever we want to.