Spring 1978 – Tearing Down the Walls And Planting Gardens of Shattered Glass

Jimmie Bleed’s habitual sneer twisted more deeply. “Why the fuck should I care?” He snapped. “Nobody stuck up for me! Nobody did anything when those fuckers were spitting on me and slamming my head into walls. They can fucking burn.”

I nodded. I said, “That’s reasonable Jimmie. They are not people for whom I have any affection. But the Shrall will not stop with them. They will spread until they encounter an opposing force. The longer they have to grow, the larger the force will need to be to push them back. Would you rather be on the front line with a chance of winning or running for cover when they are a relentless tsunami?”

“You’re mixing your fucking metaphors,” he said. The corners of his lips were straight rather than down turned. It was almost a smile.