The water was pretty like this – or maybe it just wasn’t as bad as usual. Depends on how you see things. You could blame the darkness of it on the night and not on the filth, which is what it had in its favor at this given hour. On top of it, moonglow and street lamps speckled the black surface with fragmented reflections of light, swaying alongside the current. It was pretty, maybe; you could call it pretty. But it would be prettier if he were ignorant to the fact there were dead bodies at the bottom.
No figure of speech. There were dead bodies. To be more specific, parts of dead bodies stuffed into garbage bags with rocks inside. Otherwise, they’d float, and the view would falter, as so would the overall smell of their surroundings. But these were drunken realizations for you – or rather, memories coming back to get him. He found it funny in a twisted way; just another thing that distanced him from his companion: his life had been dedicated to getting those bodies inside. Forget happiness and definitely forget love. But don’t forget the corpses.
