Something always hurts. The hurting is how they find me. That was how they found the others. Wives, husbands, children. Tunnels beneath the fresh suburban homes, nest of crawlspaces. Gulfstream trailers containing doomsday clocks, teeth and tissue. They just vanished. We spent months in the salt flats, blinding-white bunkers, constant migraines and chills. We practiced on cattle. They told us we were going to save humanity, they told us so many things. We were doctors, we were surgeons. We used to be something other, I don't remember. I broke into a gas station bathroom and tried to clean myself in the sink, using my fingernails to scrape the shit from my teeth, run my fingers through my hair. Practiced my stare in the mirror. I am a normal person. I have a practice, a family. People are still alive because I healed them. Of course. Of course.

a means of divining the future by judging the patterns formed by drops of blood placed into a bowl of clear water. The size and shape of the bowl, as well as the temperature, directly affect the accuracy of the readings, although different texts call for different variations in order to judge different life situations. It is as such that the entire field of fluid dynamics is essentially a means of fortune-telling technology, which is the unspoken (ad generally unconscious) distaste physicists have for the occult: sublimation and displacement of self-worth anxiety.

the exit is hidden within the exit