![]() Shallow, only through the top layer of the skin. A cut snaked from his wrist all the way to the elbow. The man held out his left arm and pulled back the sleeve of his leather jacket. Émile jabbed his finger in the direction of the man. ![]() He ran the street and when someone tried to stand up to him, he’d fly into a rage and beat them with a rock or a metal stick until they stopped moving. All the street people called Émile Weasel, because of the sneer, but only when he couldn’t hear. Next to him Émile looked skinny and weak, and he knew it too, because he forgot to sneer. Faces lied, mouths lied, but the eyes always told you if the man would hit and how hard. He looked at Émile and the man next to him. ![]() ![]() But it was so nice and sunny, and he’d fallen asleep on the rags in front of it. The drum lay on its side and was long enough that Émile couldn’t land a good kick. He should’ve hidden deeper in the drum that was his nest. He sensed the kick coming through his sleep and curled into a ball. ![]()
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