There was a man in the commons area and he had his face over a grill, heat distortions waving over him.

His feet were gone, and in their place, blood-caked and hacked-up ankle bones brought to crude point.

These he navigated in placement like stilts.

These, leading up to his smiling face, held close to the heat.

He laughed and held his head over the grill until a crack ran the middle of his face, from forehead to chin.

Its happening was quick, red beneath, followed by the almost invisible curing and curling of the skin around the wound with cellophane quickness did this do.

He stood up laughing, touching the split.

He said—Uhhh.

He licked at the crack and the four pieces of his lips.

Him said—Don’t you just love it. I think I’m going to keep it—Him said.