Pages and panels would rotate, spin, and fold on themselves and back again, all while distended genitalia would
skitter along the gutters, having grown tiny limbs and minds of their own.
And trailing them, outrunning them,
skittering along the gutter and the sidewalk and the low gray steps of the church, banging into ankles and knees and one another, scraps of paper, newspapers, candy wrappers, what else?