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When Martin was a young boy he liked to skinny dip at Gillside Lake, first sinking fingers and then arms into the water’s summer heat, an exclamation of wonderment issuing from his mouth, before plunging in head first, causing the birds to screech away in fright, their bright wings casting long shadows across the water, a movement faster than the clouds, but slow like the ticking of the endless summer day and the heat that seemed to consume everything; but now, fully grown and working as a security guard in Ohio’s largest chocolate-producing factory, he enjoyed dipping and then throwing fingers, arms and other assorted dismembered body parts into the giant vat of chocolate that rose into the night, the heat as oppressive as ever, the night a rippling wonder like a skipped stone thrown across a still water.
Dr. Drib
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