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9 pages, Audible Audio
First published June 7, 2011
Demons smell like @ss--nasty @ss that slithers down your throat, finds your gag reflex, and sits on it with authority.
"O'Sullivan?" an uncertain voice pulled my consciousness back aboveground. It was Mr. Semerdjian.
"Yes, sir, how may I help you?" Everything was back to normal--that is, vines looked great and so did my mesquite tree. The saguaro cactus using its many arms to mold stone as if it were clay and making loud bugcrunching noises was admittedly worth comment.
My neighbor raised a skating index finger to point at the saguaro. "That moving cactus . . . and the big bug. . . and you, you spooky bastard. What are you?"
I stuffed my hands in my pockets and grinned winningly at him. "Why, I am the Antichrist, of course."
Mr. Semerdjian responded by fainting, which seriously surprised me. I'd expected a vulgar expression of disbelief, like a middle finger or a clenching of the crotch, because the man had seen a giant demon and casually offered to blow it up like a tough guy.