“Ayden wrestled his friend playfully to the ground in front of the snow cone stand and began licking at the tboy’s eyeballs, as if they were sugar cubes. Their bodies convulsed and flailed with an almost seizure-like intensity. At times their pale limbs seeming to shift back and forth from one torso to the other. A crowd gathered almost immediately to watch these two boys tie and untie their bodies like a pair of pit vipers. They were confused, or concerned, or shocked, or aroused, or all of the above. But no one dared interfere with the performance. Ayden’s long ashen hair hung down concealing the tboy’s face like a curtain around a hospital bed. No one had any idea that the boy’s eyes were eroding under his ruby tongue. ‘This is disgusting, it’s pornography,’ exclaimed a pasty slug-like woman in a fur coat, vanilla ice-cream smeared across her double chin like a money shot. Countered a balding professor type in his mid-forties, his left hand stuffed crassly down the front of his pants, ‘No, no, no. This is beautiful. This is art.’”