teeth planted in the bat, jerking it back and forth, trying to tear it from
me while he rips at my exposed stomach with his rear claws. I push out with the bat,
forcing his body up into the air. He's got the skinny part in his mouth and the fucker
might just chew right through it in another second or two. Up in the air, he's lost his
leverage and can't get purchase to claw me. Any time now he'll let go of the bat so he can
take another crack at my neck. I twist my body to the left and throw the bat, Gristle and
all, to my right. He skips and slides in the dirt for a few feet. I follow through with my
roll, scramble up to my feet, run three steps, the dog just behind me, and jump up into
the tower with Gristle hanging from my ankle. I manage to kick him off before he can sever
my Achilles.
And here I am, sitting up in the tower with that dog down below stalking back and forth,
taking the occasional jump at me and not making a fucking sound at all.
Me, I'm not what you'd call an animal person. Dogs, cats, wildebeests, it don't really
matter, I don't care for any of them. But I'll give animals this over people, they just do
what comes
natural. Eat when they're hungry, sleep when they're tired, fuck when they're horny,
protect their friends and kill their enemies. So I don't really want to hurt this dog,
which is why I didn't take batting practice on his head in the first place. But getting
down out of this thing without being chewed on is gonna be some kind of trick. I take out
a cigarette and give it a smoke.
Gristle hasn't forgotten about me by a long shot, but instead of pacing back and forth
just below me he's started covering the ground between the base of the tower and the thing
against the wall. I pitch the stub of my cigarette and squat on one of the
sturdier-looking pieces of lumber up here. Gristle looks up at me. The refracted light
from a streetlamp turns his eyes blazing red. It's a good look for him. He turns to walk
back over to the wall. I jump, land on top of him and wrap him up so that his legs are
pinned beneath our bodies. He twists and writhes and wrenches his head around and snaps at
the side of my face and misses and latches onto my left shoulder. He digs in. I get my
hand on his throat and squeeze. He jerks his head a couple times, his teeth tearing my
skin. I squeeze tighter and he starts to shudder and shake and finally pops his mouth off
my shoulder and keeps it open wide and tries to breathe. I don't let him. It takes a while
to knock him out, but he's still alive when I get up, and so am I. Pretty good deal for
both of us.
Bruises are starting to form around the holes he put in my shoulder, but the blood has
coagulated. I lift my arm over my head and stretch it out. It'll do. I pick up the bat and
walk over to the wall to see what Gristle was so interested in. It's an old T-shirt, used
to be kind of gray-green, but now it's mostly red. I give it a good smell, and you don't
have to be much smarter than dirt to know it's Leprosy's.
In the farthest, darkest corner of the garden, where the walls of the two buildings that
border it to the south and west meet, I can see an old steel basement trap. It's open. I
drop Leprosy's shirt.
Joe Pitt 1 - Already Dead
I've been spending a little too much time in basements the last few nights, but hey, it
goes with the territory. I choke up on the bat and head down the stairs.
I'm hit with that generic oily-dirt smell that permeates City basements. There's garbage
down here and moldy cloth and waterlogged newsprint, and blood. Lots of blood, and it
smells just like Leprosy. I follow the blood.
These East Village tenements have been torn down and rebuilt so many times that the floor
plans of the original builders have become worthless abstracts. This basement has
penetrated far beyond the property lines of the building above. Many of these
me while he rips at my exposed stomach with his rear claws. I push out with the bat,
forcing his body up into the air. He's got the skinny part in his mouth and the fucker
might just chew right through it in another second or two. Up in the air, he's lost his
leverage and can't get purchase to claw me. Any time now he'll let go of the bat so he can
take another crack at my neck. I twist my body to the left and throw the bat, Gristle and
all, to my right. He skips and slides in the dirt for a few feet. I follow through with my
roll, scramble up to my feet, run three steps, the dog just behind me, and jump up into
the tower with Gristle hanging from my ankle. I manage to kick him off before he can sever
my Achilles.
And here I am, sitting up in the tower with that dog down below stalking back and forth,
taking the occasional jump at me and not making a fucking sound at all.
Me, I'm not what you'd call an animal person. Dogs, cats, wildebeests, it don't really
matter, I don't care for any of them. But I'll give animals this over people, they just do
what comes
natural. Eat when they're hungry, sleep when they're tired, fuck when they're horny,
protect their friends and kill their enemies. So I don't really want to hurt this dog,
which is why I didn't take batting practice on his head in the first place. But getting
down out of this thing without being chewed on is gonna be some kind of trick. I take out
a cigarette and give it a smoke.
Gristle hasn't forgotten about me by a long shot, but instead of pacing back and forth
just below me he's started covering the ground between the base of the tower and the thing
against the wall. I pitch the stub of my cigarette and squat on one of the
sturdier-looking pieces of lumber up here. Gristle looks up at me. The refracted light
from a streetlamp turns his eyes blazing red. It's a good look for him. He turns to walk
back over to the wall. I jump, land on top of him and wrap him up so that his legs are
pinned beneath our bodies. He twists and writhes and wrenches his head around and snaps at
the side of my face and misses and latches onto my left shoulder. He digs in. I get my
hand on his throat and squeeze. He jerks his head a couple times, his teeth tearing my
skin. I squeeze tighter and he starts to shudder and shake and finally pops his mouth off
my shoulder and keeps it open wide and tries to breathe. I don't let him. It takes a while
to knock him out, but he's still alive when I get up, and so am I. Pretty good deal for
both of us.
Bruises are starting to form around the holes he put in my shoulder, but the blood has
coagulated. I lift my arm over my head and stretch it out. It'll do. I pick up the bat and
walk over to the wall to see what Gristle was so interested in. It's an old T-shirt, used
to be kind of gray-green, but now it's mostly red. I give it a good smell, and you don't
have to be much smarter than dirt to know it's Leprosy's.
In the farthest, darkest corner of the garden, where the walls of the two buildings that
border it to the south and west meet, I can see an old steel basement trap. It's open. I
drop Leprosy's shirt.
Joe Pitt 1 - Already Dead
I've been spending a little too much time in basements the last few nights, but hey, it
goes with the territory. I choke up on the bat and head down the stairs.
I'm hit with that generic oily-dirt smell that permeates City basements. There's garbage
down here and moldy cloth and waterlogged newsprint, and blood. Lots of blood, and it
smells just like Leprosy. I follow the blood.
These East Village tenements have been torn down and rebuilt so many times that the floor
plans of the original builders have become worthless abstracts. This basement has
penetrated far beyond the property lines of the building above. Many of these
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