“All black, of course. Just like his rotting soul.”
“Just coffee. Black—like my soul.”
“What do you want?""Just coffee. Black - like my soul.”
“Normally Connor would walk away from a conversation like this. His life is about tangibles: things you can see, hear and touch. God, souls, and all that has always been like a secret in a black box he couldn't see into, so it was easier just to leave it alone. Only now, he's inside the black box.”
“Jack felt arousal spiking through him, clouding his mind with the wanting, wanting this man, all of him, black and tarry, rotted with disuse, glorious and fractured and spilling out of the cracks.”
“Standing before him, the blight of idyllic thought and aspiration--rotting souls reproducing like fleas.”