The blade had been inches from showing Moe a Harlem sunset. A longer knife, or an extra twist, and Moe would’ve bled to death before the meat wagon ...rrived. As it was, Moe’s gut saw some jigsaw duty. Luckily, the pieces all fit back together, only now the picture wasn’t so pretty. He’d been laid up for three days. The doc said his stint could be as long as two weeks, but not if Moe had anything to say about it. Hospitals were for delicates. If Moe wanted to lie dormy he’d go to the top floor at. ‘Don’t be so negative,’ he teased, ‘I’m Zack.’ He held out his hand, a sign of friendship and acceptance. ‘That’s a very nice name,’ I turned from him and set some paper down on a desk. Friendship was love, acceptance was love and love was an end. He pretended not to notice, as if his hand had not yet been extended and I had not turned. Together we turned the white sheet into a rainbow, and I ignored the screaming colours, knowing that such rainbow colour could only be fake, and traitors to. More

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