The world had already been invented, a hectic architecture of wards with locked doors. I could feel vibrations coming up through the ground. Beautiful women had had their heads shaved like convicts. My friend shook when I attempted to explain. “Shush,” the tiny blue hatchlings urged, “shush, shush.” It was just about then that the fire-spitter from the fair, formerly surrounded by an invisible cloud of kerosene fumes, returned as ashes.
Profile: Howie Good