I can taste the thing that is tasting me.
... of course, when you’re standing naked by the fire, there is no real space for words.
I see the man shooting: dark jeans, white sneakers, and bald as a baby, swinging the pistol wildly, hoping for luck or God to direct his slugs.
...do not read this, this is not meant for you to read...
I will show you. I will show you soon. I will show you now.
“Thank you, Jimmy.”
It's the polite thing to do.
Maybe a physical shadow – skin cells left that have combined their DNA with the tendriled confusion of the clovered outfield...
"There's blood in the water all over the place around here," Clem told me.