The color red spread like a series of dots across the city, red dots joined by a thin thread, red dots pierced with manic intensity on white immaculate blotting paper where the color had diffused around pretty pin-points. Nine flare-ups and the sizzle of frying flesh preceded the dots, or maybe nineteen could have, but didn’t quite, the people refused in their wisdom to believe what the officials said, recognizing a cover-up for what it was. What could have been, what might have been and why on effing earth was it not, the people were so nice, no heads rolled, and every slip filed away under a big holdall labeled karma. This is one law that had always worked, it always had and would this once too. There was a cruel steel edge to it, it cut harsh sometimes but they went on, drinking in this hurt as well zombie like.