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- Ричард Морган
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"
Hey
…
"
"
Don
’
t
piss
in
my
head
,
friend
.
I
don
’
t
like
it
.
"
I
saw
his
hand
snake
down
to
a
unit
at
his
waist
and
guessed
what
was
coming
.
Retargetting
,
I
got
the
soft
of
his
eyes
under
my
stiffened
fingers
…
And
was
face
to
face
with
a
hissing
mound
of
wet
membranous
flesh
nearly
two
metres
tall
.
Tentacles
writhed
at
me
and
my
hand
was
reaching
into
a
phlegm
-
streaked
hollow
framed
with
thick
black
cilia
.
My
gorge
rose
and
my
throat
closed
up
.
Riding
out
a
shudder
of
revulsion
,
I
pushed
into
the
seething
cilia
and
felt
the
slimy
flesh
give
.
"
You
want
to
go
on
seeing
,
you
’
ll
unplug
that
shit
,
"
I
said
tightly
.
The
mound
of
flesh
vanished
and
I
was
back
with
the
dealer
,
fingers
still
pressed
hard
onto
the
upper
curves
of
his
eyeballs
.
"
All
right
,
man
,
all
right
.
"
He
held
up
his
hands
,
palms
out
.
"
You
don
’
t
want
the
stuff
,
don
’
t
buy
it
.
I
’
m
just
trying
to
make
a
living
here
.
"
I
stepped
back
and
gave
him
the
space
to
get
off
the
shop
front
he
was
pinned
to
.
"
Where
I
come
from
,
you
don
’
t
go
into
people
’
s
heads
on
the
street
,
"
I
offered
by
way
of
explanation
.
But
he
’
d
already
sensed
my
retreat
from
the
confrontation
and
he
just
made
a
gesture
with
his
thumb
which
I
assumed
was
obscene
.
