Crooked Little Vein

he jacket on, anyway.
I rifled the jacket for cigarettes, harvested one, and went back to my chair. I swabbed some of the nicot

me is the old building that the police sent tanks into, about five years back, to

en called Josh and Morgan. My side of the line; crack whores, burned-out cars, bullets stuck in door frames, and men called Father-Eating Basta

here I cared about that sort of thing. Some time before I started living in my own office

cent to my office. I knew that one of these days someone was going to burst i

ng and festering in my mug stabbed me into unwelcome wakefulness, but Id rather have had coffee. I unstuck my backside from the sweaty leatherette of

e.
I dragged myself all the way awake, lurching for

hat, I spiked bait with warfarin, but the poison seemed to somehow cause it to evolve and become a super-rat. I nailed it across the eyes once with a

ning new ways to screw me around. Id tried nailing wood over the gap in the wainscot, but it gnawed through it and spat the wet pieces into my shoes. Af

Making a smug huffing sound, it threw itself from the table to the floor, and scuttled back into the hole in the wall where it had spent the last three months p