She'd been sure this was the row—13-D—but where was her car? She shifted her bags to her left hand where the black leather glove would keep the ha...dles from biting into her and looked back over her shoulder through her blonde hair. Perhaps she'd walked past it? But there was no red Peugeot. She stopped. The yellowish green fluorescent lights bothered her eyes. The floor was damp—wet in places with puddles of black water—and the peeling concrete walls were crumbling in places. This underground. "I won't do it again." She had told Shannon when the cancer had returned, "Fuck the hospital. I'll take it as it comes, and die at home if I have to."She'd had to. There, just this morning on their couch. They'd both known it was coming today. You could feel it in the way Molly woke up-in how weary she was.Weary of sickness, but not life."Fuck me." She'd whispered that morning as the two lay in bed, "Now."Shannon could still feel the pleasure of the morning like a dim after-taste of a. More

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