Treml: a name as flat as a fist on a gnat. Hair the color of pissed-in straw. Eyes a vicarious blue. Treml has files. Tells lies. Has a nameplate. Monogrammed ties. In his drawer there's a knife which he claims is a ruler with an unusually sharp edge. Blond hairs grow on Treml's wrist. At night they stiffen when he takes off the blackfaced watch which ticks like a cricket in stunted wheat. Every morning Treml laid the black face down in front of you. It never told the time. The day you died a dozen roses came: unsigned.