Aguirre stared at Barbie's feet, one covered with a boot, the other in a wet sock. One night, K. Barbie told a story about a man and his travels. He made a journey into uncharted territory, took a bath in a forbidden river and dissolved, his body spreading out over all the river, his soul flowing out to sea. She wrote all her thoughts in the diary. When she was done she started over again, writing new thoughts over the words she had written, writing new thoughts over those, writing until the pens were dry and the pages were a solid black of overlaid words.
Saints live on air.
Aguirre was not sure where they had come from. From downstream, was all he knew. They were travelling upstream, he and Barbie and the corpses, rowing their way up as the river began to narrow, the current increasing, the boat making less and less headway. Aguirre asked Barbie. Barbie did not respond.