I nearly swallowed the whole piece of pie at once. They always made the best pie at this place. It had always been one of my secret hideaways since I moved here. It felt as if it had never changed since the fifties. Its like it retained that feel good Americana ethic that had dissolved under all the cheap commercialism that drowned this city long ago.

“You gonna finish that?” I pointed with my fork at the pie Vicki had abandoned.

“What?” She said dreamily, snapping out of her thoughts, “Oh, sure go ahead.” She pushed the plate towards me and I dug into it with malice, stabbing at the pie angrily, hacking it up into gory little fragments.

“I feel like Jack the Ripper,” I said grinning, lifting up a piece of pie crust that oozed blood red cherry guts back onto the plate, “Except I kill pies instead of prostitutes. And I’m not Victorian. And stuff…”

“Mara, you’re really weird,” Vicki sighed, refocusing her attention back to wherever she drifted off to before.