Strings together a zitherscope of oral remembrances and photographs of a generation of once-unknowns who would grow to rule the cultural empires of the world.
“The only light was somewhere in the back room. No noise. She came out with a hypo, hit herself on a fleshy part of her upper arm, and pushed the plunger.”
My last sensation before death – the fat, lemony zinc taste of the poison Samson had fed me – was gone, because the embalmers brushed my teeth and tongue.