Convention

His wife looked at books on the shelf as I observed her in glances. Out of earshot, her husband--unshaven hair crawling down his neck and up his nose, talked about short skirts and warm weather. A pendant for a politician hung blinking dumbly around his neck. A blank individual with a German last name...a someone or a nobody; probably both.

Numb-Leg

The nurse, speaking like a newscaster about my infection. A scrape in the middle of the affected area is bubbling at the core with watery blood, the round edges caramelizing with coagulant.
She begins plying at the outer ring of the infection, like a block of otherness lodged in with living flesh. Using a small dental probe, she etches into the side of this block wedging it out--Her index and middle finger are the fulcrum.
"Can You feel it" She asks puzzled, with the apparent ease of a Nazi eugenicist who's simply curious--lifting out the dead block. The Parasites inside of the block of flesh had made their nexus in that part of my leg--I see the earwax yellow residue honey-combed and broken as the nurse lifts out the main portion--The moon white of my shin bone stands out. I still feel nothing to indicate that a chunk is missing from my leg, save for the disgust and a throbbing numbness.

Life v.2

Wipers wash water drops distorting vision, flattening it back out to consistancy. I arrive here, at my place of work.

A nun was shot through her large fast food wax-gilt cup. She didn't realize she'd been shot until I pointed out the gunshot wound.

cracking slowly through the carapice. Reality dripping and globbing, the colors swirling in tight coils like goopy oil paint sticking to itself.