Excerpt: Westcustogo

The texture of the wall was gritty and crawling with microbial bacteria in the film of filth that covered it. Evidently the wall hadn't been washed ever. Cristal felt the amoebas swirling under the touch of her palm and she pressed her entire body against the wall and felt herself enveloped by the amoebas' soft wiggling parochial passage. She was filled with a sense of profound warmth toward the amoebas. The warmth radiated from the grime on the wall and the wall itself, and the immortally pleasant personality behind the wall, and was compounded by the kinetic affection inside herself. She knew that the reality of her fondness for the wall would supersede any incidental exposure to whatever deadly contagion might be stuck to the wall. She thought of Saint Francis who kissed a leper on the mouth where a sore was oozing. She felt a kinship with the saint in this moment, knowing that the holy love exuding from the saint wasn't directed to what was underneath the slime of the leper, but it included the slime as well as the soul.