This is not the first bit of faux-slash I've seen. They both (or were there two others I've ran across?) written with a bit of post-modern cynicism... might I say "airily gritty"? The sort of mildly gut wrenching reality-in-cameo that one experiences when one catches the not altogether pleasant scent of the autumns first rain falls on the inner-city street.

They both (or all three) had elements of attempted visceral violence as well- Less well written than the urban-youth flavoured parts. Might one assume they are all the same writer... one who is moar familiar with real life than with actual violence? So asks the world-weary old soldier. I actually imagine that these might have been written by a woman. Whoever it is has an excellent imagination, but probably has never actually heard the blood beat of their own heart while that of an animal or fellow man spills out on the ground, on their hands, all over the front and inner arms of their dress shirt.

Bravo to whoever wrote this (or these?) Pray continue. Your mildly jaded innocence pleases me in the same way that Faux's does.