My stablemate wears her St. Agatha necklace.

My stablemate wears her St. Agatha necklace. She

says she is a dynastic breeding machine and her black cup is

full of voices. She paints her walls the color of old clothes

but I can’t see past her many hundred eyes. She scratches

herself to raw bits. “Beware the flesh,” she says, dissecting a

raw fish with her many hundred fingers.