The unspoken rule was that marks couldn’t show at work. Bruises from thrown bottles, love bites from make-up sex: only below the collar, inside sleeves. The rule allowed for an unopened Coors that left a plum on Mitch’s ribs; four matching buttons on Suzanne’s bicep. When they both got fired the same week, the rule became unnecessary. They glared across the living room, the pawned television like an absent referee. The radio crackled warnings. When the windows broke and the tornado was so loud you couldn’t hear a scream, they knelt in the center of the room, and held on.
Photo credit: PhoebeG