He shuffled through the dark and crowded street. He didn’t want anyone touching him. He still felt violated, desecrated. He felt their eyes as if he were a raw piece of meat being poked at on a grill.
The man dodged a burly hawker of stoneware, barely slipping to the side to escape his bulk. The eyes still watched, relentlessly, shamelessly. They tore away at the fabric of his being with their unflinching stares. But he couldn’t see who they were. He only felt them like cockroaches scuttling across his skin.
They never ceased.
Everywhere he turned.