Rain scattered o’er his face & chin & eyeballs. The sky was bluer than blue chairs. He was hungry. He was skeleton thin. His joints were somehow both sore from sleeping on the drywall & numb from the ice box in his heart. His fingers were crawling with hangnails.
‘Twas while trudging through the sky’s slices o’ swamp in his broke jeans full o’ pulled springs that he met the bearded man. The bearded man wore a rich robe o’ blood red & held a scarlet scepter whose star-&-sickle head twinkled in the moonlight. So did the bearded man’s eyes.
The bearded man held his hands out & said in a soft, slightly whispery voice, “I know what you need…”
“No…”
“Shhh. It’ll all be OK. Come with me. Our kind shall rule destiny.”
Our hero’s knees stumbled & fell. Our hero was now in the bearded man’s stomach.
