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Guillermo wonders how many times relentless Nandor has had to settle for dishonorable defense when you can see so sharp in his face, even now, that he’s been irrevocably built to strike first and annihilate on sight. He pictures Nandor retreating — not strategically, desperately —, up at night as he counts his losses, picking words out of a very small roster to toss at his troops and hoping anything sticks enough for the rest to make it home. It’s the sin he allows himself. A small one for now, Guillermo bargains. The one God lets you omit in favor of being very thorough with your words on the more significant infractions.

