It’s easier to feel nothing, so he tries that. He fails. He wanders the Bronx in the dark, face lit up sporadically by the cigarette ...

It was the ritual of the thing, the routine. Arranging his workspace, getting all the tools out, preparing, as the great chefs call it ...

“It's been two years.” “WHAT?!” I scream, and the pain that reverberates through my head feels like a cleaver straight through my brain. ...