out the window. . .His body moved in little, galvanized jerks as junk channels lit up. . . Lee sat there waiting.” One snort never put anybody back on, kid.”                                  “I know what I’m doing.”                                                                                                      “They always know.” Miguel took the nail file. Lee closed his eyes : ” It’s too tiresome.”     ” Uh, thanks , it was great .” Miguel pant’s fell to his ankles. He stood there in a misshapen overcoat of flesh that turned from brown to green and then colorless in the morning light,fell off in globs onto the floor. Lee’s eyes moved in the substance of his face. . . a little cold,grey flick. . . “Clean it up,” He said.”Enough dirt in here now.”            “Oh, oh , sure,” Miguel fumbled with a dustpan. Lee put the pack of Heroin away. Lee lived in a permanent third-day kick,with of course, certain uh essential intermissions to refuel the fires that burned through his yellow-pink-brown gelatinous substance and kept off the hovering flesh.In the beginning his flesh was simply soft,so soft that he was cut to the bone by dust particles, air currents and brushing overcoats while direct contact with doors and chairs seemed to occasion no discomfort. No wound healed his soft, tentative flesh. . . Long white tendrils of fungus curled round the naked bones. Mold odors of atrophied testicles quilted his body in a fuzzy grey fog .. . .
During his first severe infection the boiling thermometer flashed a quicksilver bullet into the nurse’s brain and she fell dead with a mangled scream. The doctor