Louder and louder shook the black gates of Hell. I woke with a start, like a drunk in a cell. The chewing of wheels on the hot sandy ground came to a stop as my body was found. One must suffer from absolute blindness to freely pour the milk of human kindness. A malformed albino laid me in a seat. His face swelled with tumors, his skin like rank meat. He drove in silence as I lay in the back. Socorro was waiting down a long, dusty track. He fed me and clothed me and I slept for a day. I woke before dawn without much to say. My head started reeling and I felt cold and sick, so I found where he was sleeping and I beat him with a brick. I was hard up for cash so I looted his shack, stuffing my pockets as he wept on his back. My visions had shown me who I was to see: a healer named Maycomb out in Trinity.
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