There are limbs everywhere.
And flies.
The smell of decay, a foot, a head – hanging.
I try to fit in with them, go undercover, move like them, speak their jargon.
Ignore the smells.

I can’t, they know! A hand grabs me – my shoulder – pulls me by the shirt. I’m going: she will feast tonight because of me. But she’s just an innocent old woman? She could be my grandmother! She wouldn’t – couldn’t! – hurt me.

Alas, she’s already in the game: she’s got me now, I’m done for, I give in; lethargy soaks my limbs.

And all just for morning price.