Fw:

[Clark Floyd]

   Two. M. I'll duck one of the two capsules she gives me every other
   time she brings them. He could vaguely remember drinking his own piss,
   how hot it had been, how salty.

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   W. or. He could vaguely remember drinking his own piss, how hot it had
   been, how salty. I'll duck one of the two capsules she gives me every
   other time she brings them. I was hoping Misery's Child would finally
   be out in paperback, but no such luck. It spilled out of his fingers
   onto the board and then skittered toward the edge. Enough so he had
   gone into what she called respiratory depression at least once. WHY?
   No. Yes! 2. "See?

   It spilled out of his fingers onto the board and then skittered toward
   the edge. I was hoping Misery's Child would finally be out in
   paperback, but no such luck. He lay in bed looking at the ceiling, his
   throat dry and his heart beating fast. Enough so he had gone into what
   she called respiratory depression at least once. Because it was that
   bitter taste which brought the high tide in over the piling. It
   spilled out of his fingers onto the board and then skittered toward
   the edge. Because it was that bitter taste which brought the high tide
   in over the piling. He could vaguely remember drinking his own piss,
   how hot it had been, how salty. It spilled out of his fingers onto the
   board and then skittered toward the edge. Because it was that bitter
   taste which brought the high tide in over the piling. He almost
   rejected it (was that a faint groan from down there in the sweatshops?

   Enough so he had gone into what she called respiratory depression at
   least once. It spilled out of his fingers onto the board and then
   skittered toward the edge. It spilled out of his fingers onto the
   board and then skittered toward the edge. I'll duck one of the two
   capsules she gives me every other time she brings them. Because it was
   that bitter taste which brought the high tide in over the piling. He
   almost rejected it (was that a faint groan from down there in the
   sweatshops? I was hoping Misery's Child would finally be out in
   paperback, but no such luck. Because it was that bitter taste which
   brought the high tide in over the piling. It spilled out of his
   fingers onto the board and then skittered toward the edge. I was
   hoping Misery's Child would finally be out in paperback, but no such
   luck. He almost rejected it (was that a faint groan from down there in
   the sweatshops?

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