He was on top of her back, pushing and grunting, and she lay on her stomach, her face turned toward mine. Her green mouth gaped, and when she saw me spying, she flashed me a toothy grin.

The other day—as I was making my excuses about the podcast and invoking the fact that I, like everyone else, must eventually turn to dust—a friend of mine lay dying.

Before it lay a smoking iron-mine in a field of uprooted trees, which the giant miners had torn up in their search for iron nuggets.