Old words crawl on the cement here, sheltered from the
rain in their ripe stagnant nest. Eve is careful not to step in the green-black
pools. She smiles as she passes the words – KILL THE SNAKES AND THEIR WHORE,
they say – she steps gingerly where the pavement has ruptured, avoiding the
sharp edges. Maybe she should feel remorse. She doesn’t, because the stars have
whirled on their stage seventeen times now. It will not take them much longer.
