"I'll time you, don't think I won't." After the kiss, I shoo him off and I pick up the guitar. Not really sure what I'm doing with it yet, I don't think anything I come up with will ever be any good, but I still pick at it. Maybe someday inspiration would strike. Maybe someday, pigs would streak across the sky.

So instead I find myself picking at the chords to a Garbage song. Claire's favorite, one I remember her playing which really does even more wonderful things to my mood. But it doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would, I mean, at least I know she's alive somewhere and when I see Artie again, I'll twist his beard until he tells me where.