flames rise and surround the house.

"you hear that?" comes out in a mumbly voice, rising up at the end. "ah shuddup," a hi-pitched raspy voice answers back.  "no really," comes out mumbly once again, "235th and Brandon."

"Broadson.  dumbass.  we weren't gonna bring that shit up.  oh.  bull shit.  bull shit!"

the house was getting noticeably warmer but this feels different.  something feels off, and if there's one thng that kept the both of you alive and out of the prisons for all these years, it's knowing when something's off, knowing when it's just time to cut losses, run, and survive to see tomorrow.  fortunately the bath room window is open.  out of all rooms to be in.  usually you'd be let down by your partner's insistence on relieving himself in the top of the toilet tank, but today he may have saved both of our lives.