The pig brain swelled. Fluids popped and hissed from its folds and grooves. Dr. Mayoris slightly increased the temperature inside the incubator containing it.
“So are you still set on the placement of your angel?” he asked me. His black and white hound’s-tooth coat offset his ungainly face.
“Yes, behind my left eye,” I said, pointing to it.
“I tried to convince him to get a nose angel and join the circus as a clown, but he has his plans,” my mom said jokingly as she raised her eyebrows and smirked.
“Many of the world’s finest artists have behind-the-eye angels. Is that what your plans are?” the doctor asked me, pushing up the large-lensed, horn-rimmed glasses on his nose with his right hand. A gnarly growth rippled and squirmed in the center of the back of the hand.
“No,” I said, curtly.