The corpse was studded with what looked like the quills of a porcupine. Then I realized that they were the broken stubs of arrows—some still with feathers intact. Blood seeped from the wounds like mist, evaporating before it hit the floor. The corpse wore only a weird loincloth to which feathers had been stitched. Its bare feet slapped heavily against the pulque-slippery concrete and it staggered, turning slightly.