Every Last Drop

He has one of those heads people think about cutting off." “Yes. He does.

I feel like I'm forgetting something. Vyrus. Clans. Zombies. Stay out of the sun. Don't get shot. Abandon your life. Drink blood to survive. No, guess that pretty much covers it.

It’s not that fact of him telling me he’s not going to kill me that assures me I’ve got some time to breathe. Predo could look me in the eye and tell me whiskey’s good and cigarettes are better and I’d still need a drink and a Lucky to believe he’s not lying. The man breeds lies. He spawns them asexually, with no need for any assistance. He exhales and lies fill the air. Alone in a room, he mutters lies to himself to keep from falling into the trap of truth-telling. In the day, sleeping in his bed, deep in the safest heart of Coalition headquarters, he dreams in lies. The better to keep his left hand from knowing what betrayals his right has planned. Stretched on the rack and burned with hot irons, Dexter Predo will be in no danger of revealing the truth. Living so far beyond its borders.

Yeah, good to see you too. Her hand stays on the gun. “Did I say it was good to see you, Joe? “No, but I always try to read between the lines. Figured you going for your gun was how you express affection these days.

She reaches up and ties the strip of black cloth so that it covers my dead eye. “Now, go Arrghh. “Arrghh. She nods. “There. You’re a pirate.

It’s a puzzler, and I don’t want to sound full of myself, but I may just be the Vyrus messiah." He shakes his head. “I don’t know for sure. Have to meditate on that shit some more. Anyhoo.

The enforcer takes an envelope from his side jacket pocket and drops it in one of the scummy puddles. I look at Predo. “You rehearse that move in advance? He shrugs. “Actually, not. This one has initiative.

The man breeds lies. He spawns them asexually, with no need for any assistance. He exhales and lies fill the air. Alone in a room, he mutters lies to himself to keep from falling into the trap of truth-telling. In the day, sleeping in his bed, deep in the safest heart of Coalition headquarters, he dreams in lies. The better to keep his left hand from knowing what betrayals his right has planned.

She makes a stone-face, drops her voice an octave. -No. No. No. My name is Joe Pitt and I don't do nuthin' I don't want to do and I won't even listen because I don't know a good thing when I have it and I'd rather be all fucked up and tragic and go hurt people.

At Marcy I spot what I am looking for and shimmy up a lampost and untangle the pair of sneakers that some kid has tossed up there that dangle in testement to some shit that I have never figured out as long as I have lived in this city. I sit on the curb and stuff my feet inside leaving the laces undone. There too small but the right one fits a little better than the left. Not having a big toe is already paying off.

."...and look down the glowing store front of a 24 hr bodega. I am not overly concerned about going in there with one bare foot and a considerable amount of dried blood on my clothing. This is the Bronx after all. But best to minimize the visual impact I might make.

There something I can do to get this over with quick? Like, can I just run in front of a cab and take my lumps and we call it even? As opposed to you cutting off my nose and all, I mean.

I could flay you and wear your skin as a cloak, and caper in the streets in the moonlight. But some might consider that crass treatment of a guest." I nod. “Well, some people got no sense of humor, do they?" “I am one of those people.

Don’t make me come out there and spray you, blanco. I point at my one eye. “Better have some sharpshooter fucking aim you want that shit to do any good.