American Gods

by Neil Gaiman

“Bring me your lust in the morning, and bring me relief and your blessing in the evening. Let me walk in dark places unharmed and let me come to you once more and sleep beside you and make love with you again. I worship you with everything that is within me, and everything inside my mind, with everywhere I’ve been and my dreams and my…”

“You’re a liar.” “Of course. And a good one. The best you will ever meet. But, I’m afraid, I’m not lying to you about this.”

“That,” said Wednesday, driving off, “is the eternal folly of man. To be chasing after the sweet flesh, without realizing that it is simply a pretty cover for the bones. Worm food. At night, you’re rubbing yourself against worm food. No offense meant.”

“Good food?” asked Shadow. “Not particularly,” said Wednesday. “But the ambience is unmissable.”

“Let me tell you somethin’,” said Mr. Nancy. “It can be a long time between meals. Someone offers you food, you say yes. I’m no longer young as I was, but I can tell you this, you never say no to the opportunity to piss, to eat, or to get half an hour’s shut-eye. You follow me?”

Somewhere in there, at the end of it, he took a breath, a clear draught of air he felt all the way down to the depths of his lungs, and he knew that he had been holding his breath for a long time now. Three years, at least. Perhaps even longer. —Now rest, she said, and she kissed his eyelids with her soft lips. Let it go. Let it all go.

“Sorry or not, I’m damned and I’m doomed.”