“It’s that slippery, slick, sick sort of feeling that eats him up, belly to the bile bubbling at the back of his throat.  It’s the tarpit at the base of his spine where all his shame and degradation roils and rots. It’s the heart-stopping, dropping, wish-for-death sensation of knowing that he is exactly the kind of disappointment Daddy always promised him he would be.
And it’s good.”Â














