by Kate Smith
A lonely man, especially good with his hands, he augmented breasts, mainly, or reduced them, stuffing in feathers, dreams, bits of this and that, or pulling them out. He also did noses, from time to time, straightening them and using the gristle to make interesting jewelry that got people talking.
Once, to see if he could, he used the spare from a stapled stomach with a pair of ribs to make a bag, which he presented as a gift to a woman on the street who looked lonely too. He still remembers her face – incredulous, delighted, her crow’s feet like thick footprints in the sand of her face.
“I’m an artist, of sorts,” he said, touching her cheek with the tip of his finger. “Let me make you twice as beautiful. Here and here. Also here, perhaps. What do you say?”