I knew she was happy to be a brunette, but I asked anyway. The world isn’t safe for blondes. But then, blondes aren’t safe for the world.

It’s dangerous to be here, but I chose to be a reporter rather than a cop. Cops speak a lot of jargon, and anyway, I usually end up on crowd control. I don’t want to keep people from seeing my work.

I got back in the truck and drove aimlessly. The rug in the back rolled around, empty for now. I always had one. The worst thing was saving the world from a blonde and not having anywhere to put it.

Not that I do my work for altruistic reasons. I don’t kill to save the world. Or because blondes are evil, lying, manipulative bitches.

I kill because it’s fun. I have to cool it, though. Used to be a killing’d tide me over for more than a year. Now, the buzz lasts a month at best.

There was a girl ahead. Its car had broken down, poor thing. All I saw was the sun shining on its head like a little blond halo.

It’s been five months.

“Hey Sugar. Need a lift?â€?