Our narrator spends his days behind bulletproof glass selling experimental, pseudo-legal drugs to the vagrants who linger around the gas station. His wife obsesses over a painting, endlessly starting over on the same canvas, layering thick acrylic colors on top of each other until the texture is thick enough to swallow a baby. And their baby... she's cutting teeth. Gun-toting street preachers, sw*stika-tatted w*ggers, and trap house shamans with holes in their heads populate a Third Coast town choked out by chemical plants. What a time to be alive.
