Chapter 2: Gary

I see the T-Rex. Its head the animal of American patriotism. Its sharp chainsaw for a left hand. Its missing right hand, shrouded by wavering blue cloth. Its burned feet that tried reaching towards the sun. Its straight posture, of which not even a ruler could compare.
Molotov teeth. Skin that smells of cheese: royal and purple; rotted green in scattered plots of mould. Its eyes, oh its eyes. Eyes blind to anything other than themselves. Bloodshot: cracked glass with hatred and hunger.
He looks back at me. Him the Bloodshot Man.