QUOTE : Popo sucked in air, real fast, making a rasping sound. He turned his face away from us. Popo was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, one of those wife beaters, I think they're called, not sure why. The one wife beater we'd come across wore a leather jacket. We broke down his door and caught him in action. Bernie made him pay. But that's another story. Right now I was watching Popo's shoulders, skinny shoulders, not at all like Bernie's, and his neck was skinny, too. Something about the back of his head was very nice, hard to explain. He was trembling just the tiniest bit. I went around and sat down in front of him, at his feet. Maybe he didn't see me right away, on account of his eyes being so damp and cloudy. But then he did, and reached out. I gave his hand a lick. It tasted of lipstick, a taste I knew from having chewed up one of Leda's lipsticks in the old days, or possibly more than one, even lots.<br /><br />Popo's eyes, overflowing now although he didn't make a sound, stayed on me. His face was very strange, part clown, part man, all smeared with red and tears, but I wasn't afraid. I moved closer, pressed against his leg. Popo was the kind of human I really liked, didn't know why. He put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me closer. I let myself be pulled.