Status Updates From Suttree

He went into the Gold Sun... sitting at the counter among the morning smells of fried sausage and eggs. He rolled back the folds of his trouserlegs and examined his wound. The beggar's illspaced teeth had printed two little sickle shapes, the flesh blue, small pinlets of blood. Harrogate wet a paper napkin in his water glass and laved it over his queer stigmata. Son of a bitch, he muttered. -- C.M.

this shit a movie

Lubricity

The carpeting had been rained on and was lightly furred with pale blue mold. Something small and fat and wet with an umbilical looking tail lying there. A sort of slug. He picked it up. A human eye looked up at him from between his thumb and forefinger. -- C.M.