He remembered. He saw faces of all the people he had killed, faces of the people who had tried to kill him. They were mostly the same, but not always. He saw many women he had lain with, many women he had hunched against, thrust against, pulled forwards, bent over, women whose cheek he had touched and women who he had stripped: all those creatures whose morsels he had tasted. Women who had tried to murder him before, or afterwards. The men who had interrupted, to their shame and anger, and often to their mortal regret. He remembered why Sal at the saloon didn’t like him. He pictured his laugh:
...more
