It was an orange extension cord, strung from the second-floor banister, drawn tight down in a straight line. His shape floated beneath it, toes inches from the ground. A knocked over step-ladder. Distended face, bloated tongue pushed through puffy lips. Eyes frozen on me. The front of his pants all wet and foul. The brick of WHORL lay on the floor before him. A lake of black piss gently ebbing toward it.
