Mitch

She's not a girl who misses Mitch.

Even though she was well-acquainted with the touch of his velvet hand, it was like a lizard on a window pane, hobnailed boots and all. She just wanted happiness; that was all.

She needed a fix of that happiness. So she jumped the gun. Like a mutha. Superior! In the pits she had left uptown.

She held it in her arms. It was warm and Mitch lay dead. She was happy, 'cause nobody could do her no harm.