the smuggler’s bible


There was a preacher back east—seven, eight years ago maybe—who started to hear a voice in his head whispering about how the real sin was keeping something locked up that the lord had made.

After a couple weeks listening to that voice, he pulled his own teeth out with just a bottle of whiskey and blacksmith’s tongs. The next day, he planted them in the garden. Gül was there for the harvest. He saw what came out of the ground.

Now, standing in the dark, straining to hear anything over the rain—well, all strife ain’t created equal.