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bullshit on that one.
    Shit. Needed to concentrate to encroach these heavy duty mind-fields,
subconscious implants of the finest quality; no breach to reach. Toke dragon in
the head doesn’t help, but it sure felt good. Cracking another code I saw
Two-fingers was holding ... shit, three aces. Next to him sat the fat Sushi
woman, her cheekbones exposed through layers of sliced skin, delicately held
together by fish bones. Beauty’s only skin deep. Took another toke from the
pipe before becoming a ghost in her machine. Worming through the highbrow I
spied a pair of fours; no traps to unravel as her money was all spent on
vanity.
    A wrong turn in her cerebral domain forced me to recall the
removal of her cheeks. I rubbed my face and cringed. Sweat peppered my brow.
Pain like a blowtorch on fillets of flesh made me shiver before exiting from
Sushi doll’s mind. Too much pain in memories.
    A ferrous oxide smile averted my opponents’ stares as I rejoined
the game. Too much at stake to let them know I’m a wild card. Took another
toke. Needed to calm down. Bio toxic shit glowed iridescent through my body’s
capillaries, each inhalation revealing a subtle map of veins. All roads lead to
heaven.
    With a shake of the head I threw in my cards, unconcerned by the
inscrutable sneers from my opponents which made me laugh sardonically as I
scanned their thoughts in rapid fire, breaching cracked codes into grey matter,
a glimmer of suspicion festering in closet cells. Leper, unclean, psi card
shark.
    Time to leave.
    The toke dragon breathed fire through swollen arteries of boiling
blood and my temples’ pounded – membranous metronomes of flesh. Already on a
charge for invasion of privacy I couldn’t afford to get caught again. I
gathered the money, slowly – didn’t want to seem too anxious. A scrutinising
glare from Sushi doll made me shiver in remembrance of her pain. She went under
the scalpel cognizant, a martyr to grief in the nightmare world of reality. The
woman is sustained by torture, a member of the fashionable self-mutilation
machination. Shit makes me shiver. Didn’t want to get caught.
    Had to time it right, beat of the heart: four-chambered furnace
melting the rivers of blood. One, two – and I stretched my arms as though tired
– three, stood up, four – grabbed the pot – five, ran for all I was worth. In
my frantic bid to escape the table went flying; cards revolved in the air like
steamboat paddles running to ground.
    The crowds parted like a whore’s legs; man with a bloated
transparent stomach cowered to protect the foetus which floated in amniotic
dreams as my legs pistoned me past him towards the exit, head still ablaze with
the toke dragon’s breath. Screams echoed from behind and the erotic dancer
gathered the intestine snake into its visceral pit before exiting stage left.
    I was breathing heavily as I burst through the doors, leaving them
swinging to and fro in my wake, beckoning pursuit from the mutilation tribe.
Outside the club and a person wearing an insect-like filter mask peered through
bulbous goggles as I brushed past: myopic scrutiny of my ferrous snarl. Throat
now raw with exertion, two bellows fanned the furnace. Blood pumped faster,
loud within the labyrinth of the ear.
    Lights flashed stroboscopic from moving vehicles, braking quick to
avoid joining ancestral spectre jeans in the swirling dust as I ran in front of
them, head down, sprinting, leaping detritus fragments of history in tumbledown
central. Behind me, a shout, the voice raised against the roaring wind: “We’re
gonna find you, and when we do—” The wind stole away the shrill utterance,
leaving supposition to fuel the flights of fancy, the enmity unfortunately not
purloined.
    It was time to retreat to the foundry, lay low until the incident
became another tale of the city.
    Leaning against crumbling walls I counted the money. Bad habit,
gambling, but we all got to let loose the devil inside. It’s all I can do.