- Vol. 05
- Chapter 01
The dead have gathered in the yard to sell stuff. They lay themselves out on my patio tables like tatty old suitcases, threadbare and losing their shape. Mouths gape like old boots, tongues hanging out. Some are so rotten I can't tell one from another. Today there are shovels on offer. A broken watch – hands missing. Two sets of green fingers. I know these clothes, this coat that stinks of tobacco, mothballs. Notes of lime and lemon zest. I try it on for size and to my surprise it fits, but wasps have built nests in the pockets. This close I can smell sweat on the collar and booze on the breath of the cloth. Feel the rise and fall of the creatures that sleep inside the lining.