And if the sun comes up, if the sun comes up, if the sun comes up
And I still don't wanna stagger home
Then it's the memory of our betters
That are keeping us on our feet
"So where'd you learn to shoot like that," Dave asks. There's blood still on his shirt, dried dark into the cotton. He moves to help her with the needle but she waves him off.
"Old friend of mine taught me," she says, and pulls the thread tight.
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