White City Murder Expo

I sprayed a little cologne on my body before going out today, but even so, I can still smell Petra in the trunk from time to time, the smell of wounds, a bit like fishy smell, also cold and damp.In my trunk, the smell tore through the plastic bag, got out of the sack, blocked my throat, and couldn't swallow it.

Halfway through the drive, I couldn't stand the smell anymore. I finally saw a tavern on the side of the road and decided to drink a little before continuing on.If there is one thing that the United States is not as good as the United Kingdom, it is probably that it cannot open pubs everywhere.I ordered a glass of screwdriver, and ordered a second glass after drinking it. When I looked up to drink, I saw a few children walking around my car.

I yelled, "Hey!" to drive them away, but they came up again after a while, eager to try.I wanted to sit a little longer, but now I had to go back to the car.

I think the best thing about me is that I dare to drive when I'm drunk.I can still see the road clearly, but, that feeling... I suddenly feel very sad. It would be great if someone could talk to me at this time.I murmured without even noticing to myself: Peta, baby... I called her by all the nicknames I've ever used, as if it wasn't my son who killed her, as if I dismembered her body Block people are not like myself.Driving over potholes, she's thumping in the trunk.

The car is in place.

There is an abandoned small ditch in the woods next to the pharmaceutical factory, which is inaccessible. I also got lost before and only accidentally broke into it.I dragged Petra out of the trunk and pushed her down the ditch, and she rolled down without making much noise.I picked up the shovel from the backseat and shoveled some dirt down until she was covered and the sack was no longer visible.

I thought I was going to feel relief or something, however, for a split second, like a jerk off, I flopped down on the ground.Then it dawned on me that although I slept with Petra countless times, I didn't know much about her, nor did I know much about her family.I don't know if she'll have a talkative mom or a bigoted dad.She is dead, will someone come to find her?I certainly hope the answer is no, but I can't help but feel sad about it.

I burp, and the aftertaste of the cocktail bubbles up.I have been sitting, unable to stand up limply, just lying on the ground, bending my arms and pillow, seeing the blue sky, clouds swimming through the gaps between the branches and leaves, and unknown birds responding to each other, as if very leisurely, feeling lost The feeling came to my heart suddenly.If it was me, 17-year-old Sue Seides, no one would come looking for me until I was rotten to the bone.

I am the seventh child in my family. I have a weak personality. I am neither valued nor abused. They like my elder brother, the scumbag who can’t support the wall; If I want to go to college, I have to work hard on my own—it doesn’t mean studying hard, I have to find a way to pay for my tuition.

I said I'm not bad looking, that's why I can throw back the curtains of those middle-aged men's carriages and sit in them without being kicked out.When I was a student, I knew many such people, and not all of them were rich.My requirements are not high, as long as you are willing to open your pockets for me, I don't care how much there is in it.

There was a fat guy from England who was about my age when I was 17 and I can remember his birthday now as a blurry shadow behind a window.He often said that he loves me like crazy, but he never kissed me once, even hugging me seemed to scare him.

I remember once I said that I like drinking tea, so he took me to a tea shop.The waiter brought out the menu, and I noticed after I turned two pages that the prices became more expensive.I glanced at him and flipped back to the bottom like counting money. I will never forget his expression of connivance mixed with surprise and helplessness in my life.Although I felt like throwing up at the smell of betel nut in his mouth, that was the first and only time I pecked at the corner of his mouth.He said he was ready to pay any price.I said ok, then I'll—I'll drink lemonade.Then I drank penny lemonade, had double scoop chocolate ice cream, and fried pork chops, creamy banana splits... all cheap stuff.He later paid for me to finish college, which was far more than the price of a cup of good tea.

He died in his early 50s.I heard that he murmured my name while lying in his hospital bed, and no one in his family knew who it was.I heard that his funeral was simple and shabby, and his property was quickly divided up by a group of relatives after his death, like ants working together to remove a sweet giant, tear it apart, and quietly disappear with their own share In any gap you don't expect.I was not one of the few people who attended the funeral.At that time I had a job in a public hospital and was going to India, where I would encounter the war in Afghanistan.Of course I can attend the funeral, as long as I admit my identity as the whore who's been sleeping next to him since high school.I don't have the guts.

I had to pretend not to know him.Perhaps because of this, he started to hate me and never forgive me.In the days to come, he would often come to me, doing nothing as before, watching me from afar with melancholy eyes.The girls I slept with always said they couldn't sleep at night, as if they had eyes on them, and they often had a cold afterwards.Once I finally couldn't stand it anymore, and begged him not to disturb my life and my dreams, he obediently agreed, and since then he only comes when I'm drunk, like now.

"How are you doing?" I asked.He didn't answer.

"This is my little girlfriend, Petra." I pointed to the ditch and said to him, "I'm afraid she is not very smart. If you can meet her over there, please take care of her."

silence.

"Please, really," I said, "I love her as much as you love me."

He shook his head slowly, looked at me sadly, walked backward step by step, and disappeared into the fog in the distant forest.

It never occurred to me that I would never see him again.

I fell asleep drowsily, dragging my top-heavy body back into the car. The aftertaste of the cologne mixed with the corpse was so disgusting that my stomach churned all the way.

When I went to buy medicinal materials, the boss of the pharmaceutical factory looked at me with a hellish look, muttered for a long time, and only said: "You should drink less." I grinned.After moving the goods into the store and organizing the shelves with the guys, it was afternoon in a flash.I ate two pies for lunch before I thought of thinking about Butcher.Is he out of school?Probably not yet, how many classes does he have in the afternoon?

I'm going to drive to school to have a look.Butcher's homeroom teacher, Susan, flanked me, right at the door.She turned her head and looked a little embarrassed when she saw me, but she still greeted me.

I got out of the car and asked her how long until Butcher was out of school.When I was talking, I found that she always avoided my sight. She had cried, but her eyes were still red, like a rabbit.I saw a white mark on the ring finger of her left hand, which was obviously different from the surrounding skin.

She told me there was about an hour and a half left.I said oh, I feel that this woman is really pitiful.Susan sniffed depressingly and said politely that she would leave if there was nothing else to do.

For some reason, I suddenly said: "Like those who will leave you, marriage can't tie them down."

Susan froze for a moment, then stared at me blankly, her innocent eyes seemed to say, "How do you know?"

I do not know how?I handed over a handkerchief, and she muttered "thank you" in a low voice, took the handkerchief silently, pressed it to her eyes, took a long time, and let out a long sigh of relief: "Thank you, Mr. Sides."

It's nothing, I said.

She said: "I want to apologize for what happened to Butcher last time. After that day, I thought about it for a long time. Perhaps people's understanding of the world is as important as knowledge. People need to take the initiative to get involved and dig. In the future, when there are disputes between students, I will try my best. To try to understand the whole picture of things. I also bought a few books, and now, how to communicate effectively with adolescent children is a compulsory course for me.”

I froze for a moment, not knowing what to think.Her words sounded a bit unbelievable, but it didn't seem to be just a joke.I was almost shocked by her sincerity and sincerity, a serious fool!Someone like her, if she had the ambition to build a super bomb, might actually make something of it, instead of teaching hopeless crap day in and day out in Chicago's obscure public high schools.

On a whim, I asked, "Would you like to come out and have a cup of coffee with me?"

"My makeup is all gone," she said.

I laughed and opened the passenger door for her.