“Nearly done, darlin’.” Her purpled tongue-stub protruded.
“Sue’s the best,” they’d said, in town.
I flinched. “I wouldn’t do that.” Her potato-skin face was expressionless. Cataract-blue globes never strayed from her age-veined fingers.
“Just don’ get the snake,” an old-timer warned.
A stool creak told me Sue was done. I peeked, gasped, and shifted my shoulder to view the deep golds and blues of the dragon’s ink-birthed scales.
Sue looked …the same. “Don’t you forget to let ‘im dry,” she scolded.
I nodded, paid, left. Absentmindedly, I slipped on my jacket. It was cold, everywhere except my arm…