"How long have you been up?"

"All night... I guess... is it morning?" he looked up at her, his eyes like a cartoon, whirly-gigs of dead light, and his body smelling of sour lazy.

Disgusted, she leaned over his shoulder and looked at the screen where tiny bits and bots of not-civilization lived and didn't live and she felt as if her head were going to explode with the sheer waste of it all.

When  she grabbed the butcher knife from the kitchen counter with one hand, his…