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The cockroach is still now, quiet. Resting on its back. ItÕs amateur voyeur antennae involuntarily waving this way and that, still amateur voyeur trying to pick up the good news, though there is no good news it can pick up that will do it any good. So this is how it will end, it thinks. Here on this cold linoleum floor in these foolsÕ apartment. ThereÕs still so much I wanted to do with my life. I would have wished for a better parting. In the arms of my lover. With amateur voyeur my children gathered around. Will they know of my death? Who will inform them? They will wait up tonight, hoping for me to return with the goodies that I promised. They will wait the next day and the next. And they will always wonder after me. And my mother is sobbing now, great sobs shaking her body, tears and snot running down her face, the exhaustion that comes after the execution, the exhaustion of the hangman who weeps after the trapdoor has been pulled, the prolonged involvement leading to the condemnedÕs death has left him susceptible to his most vulnerable emotions.
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