The nightmares were always the same… his grandma’s restless soul crawling through infinite fields of Florida snow.
His scalpel carved striations on the subject’s wrinkled flesh.
They always reminded him of his grandmother.
“You’re going to be a brilliant surgeon someday.”
Lies. Disgust bubbled beneath his veins like swiftly spreading emboli.
His stitches were lousy but that didn’t matter.
His clients would rip them apart like impatient children unwrapping their birthday presents.
He ushered his elderly cargo into the bus.
Funny how nobody wanted them, but now they’re hot commodity… with all those precious packets of cocaine in their bellies.