In the city of the dead last week, a man with three tongues tried to kiss me. He said he had three tries, and that he would eat my heart. I turned to liquid and slipped out of his grip, and he fumbled after me, drooling all over himself, his spent tongues lolling, flopping on the floor. I guarded my heart closely on the way out of the city, on the bus with the grinning driver. In the city of the dead, last week, a man with three tongues ate the heart of another girl, someone who stood no chance.