Or I could give you all these things in one neat package, wrapped in disquiet and tied with unease. Perhaps I’d give you a game to play, under your breath, as you negotiated the chessboard of the high street under the accusing glares of the townsfolk. Maybe a sugar bowl, brimming with arsenic.
If I could give you one gift this Christmas, it would be a box of silver dollars, buried by the creek.
