Everyone crowds around like carrion flies to a kill. Their mouths flapping and noshing like pigs at a trough, smashing their teeth and their tongues together, telling stories of past feedings behind hands which obstruct nothing.

I can’t hold myself comfortably upright with these creatures, but I emerge momentarily and let myself be known, that they can talk amongst each other after I’m gone and assure the naysayers that I did, in fact, make my appearance. Good on me.

When I’ve lingered a while, and my corpulence and filth has made the most perceptive of them uncomfortable enough to have the image burned into their pre-frontal cortices, I stash myself away in the back alley and smoke until dead.