The curl of a failing hand, the apprehensive tick and subsequent tock practiced formlessly by ductile fingers. This old trick carried out so seamlessly, lacking greatly in pride anymore, the art of such but a perfected sculpture now. Tradition holds validation, spanning broad palm lines, yet, permeating none of the deep, available crevasses, starved to a greater power than five hundred salivating knives at the mercy of full-face values. Nerve endings, simple and reasonable fractures, abscesses...replaced with an ersatz mount, spilling over with bursting capillaries, satiating such sensible avarice with the dour, mortuary taste.