Shouldn’t have had your hair cut short, stupid, he thought. They took everything home: the flesh, the skin covered with tawny curling hair, the tusks. I can smell him. It glistened and farted as the slug-boys murmured soothing words to it and rubbed its flesh, thirty of forty of them swarming like flies over the corpulent flesh of the slug.
As Nakada left the darkness of the archway, the breeze seemed to shift, bringing with it a taint of rottenness, like preserved meat badly cured and left to spoil in its packaging. “The lights are on,” I said. “So he knew you weren’t holding out on him. ”I grunted.
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