< let it rot, but no one else could have it. He couldn't bear to let one of the few places that he /had/ ever felt at home fall into >

< someone else's hands. Lynda had just accepted him, Peter...well, Roman thought he had too. But the fucker had run away, had abandoned >

< him. When he arrived at the trailer, he could smell someone there. He headed down the stairs at a brisk jog, utterly intent on tearing >

< whoever was squatting inside into tiny pieces and maybe eating them. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he actually had all that blood and >

< meat in his hands. He got almost to the door, before he could tell who exactly it was that was inside, and once he did it stopped him >

< dead. Peter. That was Peter. Suddenly he was who he'd been before, his insides twisting in the way that he knew now meant something that >

< would only hurt him in the end. Love. He hadn't really known what to call it before, the way that Peter (and Letha, too) had the ability >

< to make his insides twist, made every smile brighter and every hurt a gaping wound in his chest. Love. He'd been in love with >

< Peter. That love had helped kill him. If Peter had been there? He wouldn't have....things would have been different. Somehow they would >

< have. Yeah, Letha would still have died, but maybe he wouldn't have. He didn't....know what to do. He wanted to open the door, yell, >

< rage, shake him, and cling to him. All at the same time. Since he didn't know what to do, he did none of them. He just pulled out his >

< pack of smokes and took one, lighting it before he set the pack and the lighter on the half rotten wooden stoop. Then he turned and >

< headed back to the Maserati, the hunger he could never be rid of making his guts feel hollow. Roman thought that was appropriate. He >

< was hollow. Everything that really mattered about him was dead....or inside that trailer and might as well be dead to him. Then there >

< was the baby....and he had no clue what to do with that yet. He didn't have a single clue. So he'd go into the city and find something >

< to drown his sorrows in. Someone. It didn't matter. It probably wouldn't make him feel any better. [ Peter Rumancek ]

Glad I missed all that sort of fun....let's not and say we did.

This is.... Something. I'm not sure what yet, but it's something alright.

Someone's pulled a Gypsy again. [ Peter Rumancek ]

Breaking news: I'm the crazy creature this time.