"You're right," Cash said. Or, if she was not right, she was right enough - this family was a very particular way, and Tiberius was a very particular way, and Antigone had never had any more of a choice in her circumstances than Cash had. They were, he supposed, more alike than he'd like to believe. He took another drag of his cigarette.

Cash blew the smoke away, no smoke rings, just away. "Sometimes I think I don't want to be here anymore," he admitted. "Not here," he gestured at the yard around them, "But, you know, here." Another vague handwave; this one was more directed at himself, meant to encompass this, bodily experience. He didn't want to be here anymore. He had not wanted to be here for a few months, now, but on this, the anniversary of Eli's death - he didn't want to be here at all.

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