Dead yet?" Gus answered. I smirked. "Not yet, but the night's still young." "Here's hoping.
DisruptionYou little prick. It's a whelk...it's a...it's a...dead whelk!
The Bizarre Letters of St John MorrisMemory is this, not the target dead on center but the hurt unwept.
A Bruise Of Ashes: Collected Poems