Trace is busy about the house, putting up Easter decorations throughout the living room and kitchen. Flowers, fake birds, died eggs (which she stayed up late last night making), little straw baskets set delicately by the fireplace containing tiny stuffed bunnies. It really was enough to make you sick. What did bunnies and eggs have to do with Easter anyways? Why don’t we stick to the traditions, huh? Why not gouge some holes in me and see if I wake up on Sunday? Just drape me over the couch and stick some goddamn rye whiskey in my hand, and I assure you, I’ll come back to life. Give me my crown of thorns; just make sure there’s some Crown Royal too.