As I was suffocating the second bum I flashed back to the day I
left her: to that feverish craze I was in and to the bum who assailed
me, screaming "you killed her!" and to what I did, quite out of my
mind. But now, as I went out to send her that fateful letter, and
remembered I had no postage, and the bum's cup had exactly enough for a stamp, killing was easier. But as I slid the coins
into my wallet and glanced at her picture, I realized the lunatic was
right, I have killed her!
BrevityQuest07