no subject

[She had a thousand questions, once. A million. But it all boils down to this: people like David were made by what the world used to be. Which means, when you peel back the fresh coat of paint and the bright city lights, how the fuck could it have been any better really? People just hid their ugliness. Joel and his 'I've been on both sides'. She doesn't like to think about the fact that the one person in the world who gives a shit about her has done awful things, but she can't escape or ignore it, either. Joel's a killer. So's she. Endure and survive.

She scrubs a hand through her hair, straightens her off-center ponytail.]

I dunno, dude. What's to ask?

[And what difference does her knowing it make?]