"There's blood in the water all over the place around here," Clem told me.
His fingers were soft, his lips delicate.
For now though, there was a hitch in my gate, a stutter in my stride. I moved like a broken automaton, a machine aware of the hows of survival but unaware of the whys of survival. I pulled my lips back from my teeth, licked my lips, and repeated that motion five times to loosen up the muscles that allow such an facial expression.
As a kid, I’d imagine green florets budding out from under the soft and torn fingernails...