Out there the strange feeling of life in the shadow of war. Fear and denial in the streets. The tops of the heads of passersby in the street. The desperate thoughts inside each head. The war raging on the horizon. In times like these men like me matter because war likes the darkness I carry with me in my heart. Like a woman's secret rape games. Women walking by look at me like little girls. War doesn't like women, war demands that they masquerade as little girls. In the cool silence of the night the bombs can be heard in the distance and Angelica coddles in my armpit and shakes in fear and her pussy gets wet. I stroke her pussy. She passes wind like a baloon deflating and I stroke her to sleep.