Mr. Payback grunts. "What's wrong, New Guy? Did a few rounds make you nervous?"

Rafter Man looks up with a new face. His lips are twisted into a cold, sardonic smirk. His labored breathing is broken by grunts. He growls. His lips are wet with saliva. He's looking at Mr. Payback.

​

The object in Rafter Man's hand is a piece of flesh, Winslow's flesh, ugly yellow, as big as a John Wayne cookie, wet with blood. We all look at it for a long time. Rafter Man puts the piece of flesh into his mouth, onto his tongue, and we thing he's going to vomit. Instead, he grits his teeth. Then, closing his eyes, he swallows.

 

I turn off the lights.