![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVTQN1B2mTFB5joE8UKdixbmyfhp_SwzKyi4Q_exVF9hoIVOyVth9mdeIBJiPNWOzawWUrbPobrWF7Qv-en4RrcfkcbvvwFCMNCz6qT2b3oiallpQJv0gemFbURRoVrDl9-XR2hejn_zs/s400/the+most+peculiar+part.jpg)
The most peculiar part was not
discovering that he was in a trunk.
(He’d ended up all sorts of other
untoward places drunk.) Or that
the trunk was blue, its deep
interior blood-red, his skin so
radiantly orange that it bled out into,
through the better part of everything
he tried to touch. (Although
that was a little much.) The most
peculiar part was he was dead.
.
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