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The Blood Donor’s Flash of Fiction

The Sketchbook Project

In the cigar soil-smell of an autumn day as pecans plopped to the ground, he drove his SUV to a cream-colored building at the outskirts of a university where students and others in need of fifty dollars toward a bag of groceries lined up for a number. Three hours later he was hooked up near a woman who wore rhinestone flip-flops and a t-shirt with  red embroidered letters. Four feet dangled over the edge of a couch-cliff, enough to hold his attention before Marduk, Babylonian son of a pit bull, appeared behind his eyelids reading a U.S. Constitution and wanting him to sign a terms of agreement. Be not mistaken. He had the power to shut down the operation. He was Marduk. The blood donor passed out, wanting to know exactly how cold it would get, and if butter would  stay soft enough to run over his tongue.