NOVEMBER 25, 1934
WOKE UP THIS MORNING. The head was gone. I looked around. Had he rolled off? Not likely. Had one of the vagrants come by and snatched him up? I was a heavy sleeper, but I knew damn well I would’ve heard that. Alcibé would’ve made sure to yell loud enough to wake me.
If my stomach had still been bubbling and bursting with vital juices, I knew how it would have felt. It would’ve felt as if a big chunk of ice had plunked down in it. I felt absent not having that feeling. Does that make any sense? Like life was slipping away from me a little more every day. We could pretend when we were part of the community. At least then there were other play-actors acting like everything was the same as it had been before unlife.
I stood up. I knew it wasn’t vagrants, not even that King
