My side and chest ached more than ever. My hands shook. For a long moment, I could not see to see. I felt the bodies of people flow past me; I felt their eyes on my face; but there was only wariness and indifferent curiosity, not concern. I tried to conjure up an image of the Pinto, to believe in and commit to some sixth sense that would lead me to a happy resolution. It was the kind of absorbed longing that I hadn’t experienced since childhood, and it was strange, like flensing all the dead cells that had coalesced around the heart.
At last, I opened my eyes slowly, and the colours of life flooded in. Keaton reappeared. However, he remained firmly black and white, as did the creature with him, whose presence horrified and appalled.
Calmly squatting on the stone-faced comedian’s right sh
