June was refreshing. She didn’t spit when she spoke. Her eyes were not blazing bitch lights but tranquil pools of mossy green water. Travis was drowning slow. In ten years June would be dead because she would marry a mentally challenged spiritual dwarf who got nasty with a butcher knife when he walked in on June playing Monopoly with the youth minister. Now she was alive and Travis loved her because her eyes were not blazing bitch lights but tranquil pools of mossy green water and he was drowning, drowning slow.
Wikipedia: He is a third-person, singular personal pronoun in Modern English, as well as being a personal pronoun in Middle English. →