Dream of Exile
We—a band of fugitives and I—attempt to bury ourselves to escape someone’s wrath. For some reason, everyone decides to bury me first, and I assist only halfheartedly. I’d like to spruce up before resigning myself to six feet under. The more lipstick and nailpolish, the better, and I am choosy about which. At some point I realize that everyone is trying to steal my jewelry. That’s when I decide I don’t want to be buried after all.