Confetti in the dust, a smudged fingerprint, a cigarette buttdisintegrating in a saucer. That was the last thing he wanted. Asher wore a jacket of pale gold with darker gold embroidery, and an edge of true metallic gold thread shot through the embroidery itself. His body curled inward as they danced their quaint tribal dance on him.
I kept my hands out from my body, fingers spread, universal sign for I'm harmless. But maybe it was enough. no, never. The machine hummed to itself, the noise of it coming both from the machine beforehim and from somewhere behind the wall.
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