What can YOU say in six sentences?
Halloween sucks landscapes from Caliban's mirror and wraps one up in them, all with a wink and a blink and a nod; this one conjured Haiti and left Rob to fight his way through past the witches.
And like that came the snake, a spit in the eye, but Rob slapped the venom out of its mouth and fled like he'd fled the bombing of Dresden, four dreams and a lifetime ago.
Now, through streets ruled by 12-year-old gangsters, he shifted shape in the shadows and made his way out of the ruins.
His clothes fell away in the course of his trek and he skinned and ate dogs, and labored through canyons and quicksand and swamps, and then he came on a roadhouse that skirted the edge of a wood and a gully; a dark man flashing a badge and a pistol ran out to chase him and Rob morphed again, became a coyote, and ghosted the gully and lost him.
He came out at last on a street that he'd lived on in some northern country where all men pack guns, but these men he knew--above all how to avoid them.
But not the woman who stood in the alley, who wore a black dress and a stripped-away smile, and a gleam in her eye from the eons; she beckoned and took him, and fed on his screams and his muscle and bones, and bathed in his blood and grew young once again as November squeezed life from the pulp of the sky and days cast their pall on all waters.