My brother killed a cat today. There was a famous Chinese general who once said that you would truly discover a man through his torture. I have come to disagree. When are we more exposed than when we are in sorrow, ridden by guilt?

My brother killed a cat today. It was a little cat, a black one named Houdini with long fluffy hair and a sweet face. I'd heard of Houdini before when his owner pinned a note to our door when we were out asking if we would like to take him in. She had mistaken us for our neighbor, who has eleven cats. Her name was Holly and she sounded like she was between jobs.

My brother killed a cat today. It was a little cat, a black one named Houdini with long fluffy hair and a sweet face. He hit it with his car. It's a white 1997 Toyota, an Avalon. Our grandparents gave it to us in mint condition (practically), despite over 100,000 miles on the odometer. He put a NASA sticker on it and a sticker that says, "+5 Car of Driving." Before my brother got it, my dad had it for a few short months. He managed to have it crashed by other people twice. I call it Lester.

My brother killed a cat today. It was a little cat, a black one named Houdini with long fluffy hair and a sweet face. He hit it with his car. He had seen it, it had seen him. But there was no stopping at that point. There was just movement and inertia, little numbers broken down into physics f=ma that my brother wants to live with floating around his brain for eternity. He loves those numbers.

My brother killed a cat today. It was a little cat, a black one named Houdini with long fluffy hair and a sweet face. He hit it with his car. He had seen it, it had seen him. Both of them stopped. I wonder if Houdini was thinking about Bulgaria (or was it Belgium) where trafficking law was until very recently that at a four-way intersection, the person of higher rank went first. It used to work when you would have your crest on the carriage, but not so much with cars. Cars don't have crests. They have brute force.

My brother killed a cat today. It was a little cat, a black one named Houdini with long fluffy hair and a sweet face. He hit it with his car. He had seen it, it had seen him. Both of them stopped. And then both of them started up again. Moby has this song called "The Great Escape." I think it was about Houdini the man and subsequently Houdini the cat. The last Great Escape, perhaps, is death. They were going to give Houdini away, so Houdini gave himself away.

My brother killed a cat today. It was a little cat, a black one named Houdini with long fluffy hair and a sweet face. He hit it with his car. He had seen it, it had seen him. Both of them stopped. And then both of them started up again. My brother is made of little numbers. He knows the little numbers that would have saved Houdini. It kills him that Houdini didn't.

A cat killed my brother today. It was a little cat, a black one named Houdini with long fluffy hair and a sweet face. It hit his car. He had seen the car, the car had seen him. Both of them stopped. And then both of them started up again. My brother is made of little numbers. What happens when those numbers destroy themselves?