A grave. A mass grave, prepared for us, all the ashes mixed with water so the particles find each other again. There was so much death, we fell in and. We fell in.

[And the mud turned back into people, slowly. He grits his jaw against shuddering at the memories, does as Bush says, scrubs the hallway of puddles and his departing footprints.]

We should stop my room - the clothes I had on before, they're still caked with it.