"No," I answer simply, "Too late. You're right, I won't make it." I take another step toward him, having to tip my head back to meet his eyes, "When have you ever worshiped anything? You don't know what that means."

Close enough to smell him now. "You know that bitter taste of pain... Loss. Regret. Disappointment. All that shit. That swell of it that hits your tongue from the ones that know they're gonna die and they've wasted their whole pathetic life? You're covered in that. I can smell it from here. I'm some fucking pathetic streetwalker? What are you?"

Push, push back. Push push push and nothing fucking happens, but eventually, I figure, somebody's gotta break.