fingertips karasu with the horsehair brush and some drain cleaner he had was finally reaching the end of the painful process he had undertaken of removing his fingerprints he drank deeply from the chilled bottle of scotch he knew it was strange to drink it that way, but he didn't like putting it over ice and he hated the sensation of warm liquor hitting his stomach the smell of incense filed the room the room was getting warm, as he wiped away a bead of sweat that ran down his face, he loooked at the milky residue in his sweat and held up the small mirror to see that he had exposed the ornate stripes and shapes that were tattooed into his face he took put the mirror down and picked up the cold bottle with his freshly burnt fingers it felt good he played with the remote control and watched the movie again, lingering on the scene where the man ate the bullet. he wondered if anyone had bought his old circular saw 010620 ... the eye glancing gently over every contour of you 010805 what's it to you? who go blather from