what could they do what could they do. it wasn't like he was dead but he wasn't alive either what could they do. nothing would ever taste the same after that. we had all been wasted and bescrapped. some of us sat in metal chairs for long years. i spent the next stretch of time staining my skin and losing teeth one or two at a time to fists and amphetamines and blackness and bricks. with so much masonry one would think i would have built something. once i was aware of what it looked like to build. i left it behind. once the bright noises became quiet the wind carried away one grain of rock after another until silt was all i was. now and then there was sweetness. now and then. most of the taste was drying morningafter blood. most of it.

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