She smiled casually spitting on the rotting floor. She shook her head before walking to the stairs where she could watch the storm from up stairs.The ...reature saw a lot of flesh. However even though it felt hunger. It also felt another feeling long forgotten.It slithered through an open window.It slowly approached the scarecrow. Putting a tendril to the spit a memory flashed past its mind. A memory of her dancing for the scarecrow.It looked down at the scarecrow with a tilt to its head. A. She padded over to me in her bare feet (and everything else) and looked at the canvas. I stood aside. Her brow creased. She tilted her head to one side in a reflection of the position she had held over the course of two weekends and four sittings. The expression on her face was not one of rapture."Uh. Doc. I know I'm not an art critic, but..." ... but you know what you like," I said finishing the cliché that I'd heard repeatedly over the twenty years of my career."No. I know when something. More

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