They sit together, huddled around a dark table.  Together
they sift airs through long sharp noses, flaring moist nostrils.
They find the one in the crowded room with the most compelling
scent.  They wait until that one leaves, and they skulk along behind.
	Their searchlight eyes strike out down dark streets behind
the solitary walker.  They follow the scent like a long string of
tantalizing crumbs.  They salivate and quicken pace.  They lick
their teeth, tasting blood, not their own.  Saliva strings from
teeth, dangles from open mouths, hanging wet without conclusion.
	Hungry run on sentences.