epigonee

The man laughs at my question. Smoke pours out of his mouth and off of the roll of drugs pressed into his fingers. He leans in and looks at me with hazy gold eyes. I wonder if this is what it would be like to consult the mystic. I hope so. I want to know I am not the only one to feel this stupid. “You cannot give a blood sacrifice to a man like that,” he chastises, as if he really knows “You have to think, boy, about what he represents.” With each breath comes more smoke, as if his heart is burning up.  I think that this makes sense, he is sacrificing his own future to know that of other’s. “Blood is like win