It was a hard-hearted, heavy hand that lay Jesse flat on his back in his bed. He said, "When I was seventeen it was an okay year, but the rest were shit and every day death becomes hard to resist."
It was a backwater sack of bricks that ripped from her fist and his mind became an abyss. Naked men and women danced in orgiastic bliss. He undressed, warm hands caressing his virginal flesh. And that was heaven when Jesse died; no angels sang, no light from the divine. He found a new life in a never-ending sea of flesh.