There on a mound rising above us, the bird of winds heaved with its own irregular breathing,its snake neck a “Awright, you crumbs, on yer feet,let’s move out in snappy style here!” He unlocked the barred entrance, and some of the more drunken inhabitants tried to elbow pasthim. You called, he said. Rivulets of scars, where holy water had been poured on that most beautiful of faces.
I'd had enough. But he paid his money and went in. I was liking Leo Harlan less and less. I swallowed heavily.
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