It’s November in Brighton Beach. A creature with five arms walks by the water. It has eyes in place of hands. Its skin glitters in the sun. Today, it is searching—always searching.
Eye-piece
It’s November in Brighton Beach. A creature with five arms walks by the water. It has eyes in place of hands. Its skin glitters in the sun. Today, it is searching—always searching. Its eyes have retained the functions of the hand. They grab, caress, but never hold.
It sees him; he sees it.
“My name is Eye-piece,” it doesn’t say.