She says I’m pregnant. He falls backward and his hands scrabble for the doorknob. He turns to flee into the heavy night. Wait, she says. He pauses to pause and panic overtakes him. In a fervent daze, like a man drunk, he staggers down the street and clatters into an alley. Yesterday’s newspaper and rotten dinners spill onto the gravel. Raccoon eyes fluoresce their thanks as he stumbles away to fall onto his knees. He places his hand on the wooden slats that run parallel to the brick and stone structure behind him and takes it away with a small furring of splinters. I’m pregnant. His mouth fills with battery acid and his cheeks are wet. He abruptly raises his head. He burns. Jesus, some fucker had left a car battery with the cover removed. When he returned galvanized with pain, she sobbed, Why did you do it, Johnny? Am I and the baby so despicable?!