Tutti loves only three things in this world, and he loves them well: his birds, his liquor, and Gemma, the junkmonger who keeps the stall next to his barrel.
“How disappointing I must seem,” he said at last. “I didn’t know I’d become a folk figure. I would have grown a great beard.”
I lay on the drowned grand piano, naked, my head that of a chess-horse, my hands and feet stumps oozing black-green blood onto the keys.
I wanted to ask her more questions, about the way the world was made, about death and dreams, but did not want to know the answers.
Chloe’s first instinct was to hustle Willy and Annie out of the zoo, lest they learn prematurely there was such a thing as atheism.
The metalman had always been behind her, its steel hooks eager to split her open, for as far back as she could remember.
I knew the streets. I were a quick strike and a wary eye, but this...
Something sat in the rugmaker's belly, small and solid and chill, and her husband's songs ceased to warm it.
The body's exposed intestines writhed with pale-pink caterpillars, Corpsewing larvae, a sight Yinghua found at once repulsive and fascinating.