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Dr. Ass sighed. He’d been saving this kick for twenty years. He spun on his heel and delivered a perfect, spinning heel-kick to Mr. Cross’s posterior.

Dr. Ass sat across from her. He didn’t touch her. He just watched her eyes track a moth banging against the trailer’s bug-zapper light. cherokee dr ass

Thwack.

Mr. Cross paid his forty dollars. Then he wrote a check for the Mulberry Creek volunteer fire department. The trailer’s sign got a new line: Epilogue ” Cross said

“Every night at 3:33 AM,” Cross said, “my left hand writes a name on the bathroom mirror in my own saliva. The next day, that person dies.” that person dies.”