Chapter 8
Episode 8epixodai kriminologija blue aGonija kodėl aš negaliu gauti iš kitų gero
The blue agony did not leave with the lecture. It followed me through the narrow streets of the old town, where the cobblestones grew teeth and the gas lamps hissed their yellow secrets. I passed the bar where the men with pink ties drank their cheap beer, their laughter like shards of glass in my skull. The autumn air bit my cheeks, turning them the color of the apples rotting in the cemetery—the same apples I had held, their skin like the face of a dead saint.
I stopped at the corner of Vilniaus and Kęstučio, where the neon sign of the pharmacy flickered. Inside, the pharmacist knew me by name. She had the green eyes of the karma I could not escape, the same eyes that had watched me in the blue home when the Drakula and Frankenstein of my own making clawed at the walls. She handed me the box of neuroleptic, her fingers brushing mine with the cold precision of a nurse handling a corpse.
“Two hundred milligrams,” she said, her voice flat. “The same as last time.”
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