... the sounds of the morning muffled, he came to realise that hisears were encrusted with fluid not of his own making.
Blue-ish gray spittle bits. Or is that gray-ish bluey. grey. gray.
Splooge.
His eyes adjusted to the day and he noticed us above him, very
slowly rotating clockwise and pulling away, making him seem
smaller and more alone.
We continued to look down on him as he stumbled to his feet, up the
steps and into his home ...
