Sometimes I write fiction
Every woman knew Wallace, he signed their panties. His face bronzed like a pulp hero and his eyes the green of a television commercial cat, he was the poster child for the bad boy world of extreme plastic surgery. Children born with pig’s tails, horns and fangs flocked to his practice. Tumours, growing out of arms like trees were removed and mounted like dead dogs. He was a star, and the world ate him up.

Cosmopolitan interviewed him, wanting to know what his secret was. How did he turn lepers into Hollywood starlets? He asked the interviewer to turn off the lights. His hands glowed with a white that was so incredibly bright that her vision was compromised for years. They did a three page fold of spread of them. He announced that his hands were blessed, a gift from God. The Almighty gave him perfection when he fisted an angel.