We are bears. We are giant bears and she is black or brown or goddamn fucking Smokey for all I care, but I am Polar. Polar because people like me are all but extinct these days. Renaissance people like Da Vinci. We are kindred spirits, Leo and I. I'd let him draw me naked. We'd joke and he'd get pissass drunk and make his move and I'd tell him to fuck off and then we'd solve puzzles together. Or maybe invent stuff. Leo's ghost hops gleefully somewhere beyond the grave because it likes the idea of being bearlike. If there is a beyond the grave. I don't know when a black or brown bear would fight a polar bear but they are sworn mortal enemies. That is a fact. The world is filled with facts. There is another.
We are maybe more like dogs. Starved dogs. Dogs that grew up far from homes where the porch light was on. The kind that fight in basements for mexican aliens (the only real aliens?). Vegas odds are 4 to 1 that she'll win but I've got gusto and nothing to lose. Shit. I wish there was something to lose.
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