Sometimes, Cash looked back on his life and wondered how in the fuck he got so lucky. It certainly wasnāt because he was a good man; how many times could you kill a man after picking his pockets and still be let into heaven? It certainly wasnāt just luck heād had all his life; almost losing his brother numerous times, killing the kid over and over, living alone in a wasteland of dust time after time attested to that.
No, it wasnāt from his own power that he was this lucky.
But as the warm body he held shifted, Pupās skull shifting so that the still asleep skeleton could nuzzle into Cashās chest, he found that, as long as this luck lasted, heād be just fine.
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