Sea Lion Shores comb my hair back, strike a match on a bathroom wall where your number is written

He felt as if he had someone instantly categorized this man as someone he hated. Had he known who the male was, who he belonged to, his hatred would have been justified. For now he reasoned it with the man's uncouthness. Was this land filled with flea-stricken, half-sane wretches? His lip curled in disgust as he watched spittle constantly drip from his maw. How dare he speak to him, this wretch? I was watching piles of fat move, He said, referring to the blubbery masses swimming gracefully through the water now. But now it seems I'm watching a pile of shit speak,