The crowd surged forward again, and was upon him. People please! he pleaded. But they would not listen. They could not. He smelled too good.

She felt them staring, their gaze boring into her until she felt violation. What? she asked finally. Your outfit doesn’t work, she was told.

The old guy says, I knew death once, and then he tells an immensely long story that ends with him not dying. Though we all want to kill him.

I’m physically ill. I’m not mentally ill. The illness is in my brain. That’s a part of my body. Which makes it physical. I’m physically ill.