“River, heading toward Samson Rubber. He felt as if he'd fallen out of time and space. Something that he didn't want to look at too closely was cheering him up. Not looking was probably the key. The mood frayed as he glanced off the bridge just across the river. In a waste of industrial land, a few homeless had set up an encampment of old sofas and refrigerator boxes, and in the sea of mud two enraged old men were dueling with prosthetic arms. The fluorescent pink arms with shiny pincer-hooks sl...ammed into one another like sabers. When he stopped the car, he could hear the clack of plastic on plastic. The hairy filthy men circled one another, shouting and feinting, and he heard another blow and a bellow of pain. No one was too far gone to partake of the human condition. He parked opposite the rubber factory, so big and tall that it was really a walled city. There were watch towers in the corners and every fifty yards, with toothy battlements all along. The walls had Babylonian warriors in relief, striding kilted into battle, or riding war chariots.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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