I hoped that the odor of death wasn't too bad. Maybe they had found a boat without any passengers aboard. I hoped they had. The smell of death was fam...liar now, but it was no more easily borne now than it had been, at the beginning.We were nine, now. A great range of ages. Three men from Canada — fishermen now far, far from home. A housewife from St. Cloud, Minnesota. A 17-year-old boy from Atlanta — by way of Cripple Creek, Colorado. Two young black boys from Chicago. A disabled 50-year-old. Clara had heard some of the whispers about me, and had wanted me to fuck her for quite some time. She had been too shy to ask me herself, so she had come up with the idea of meeting me at the ‘camp out’. She had, I later found out, been molested repeatedly and gotten pregnant by an older cousin, and her parents had taken her for a back alley abortion. Something went wrong, and the operation had left her sterile, but whether it was the botched operation or the experience of being fucked to start. More

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