By Evan Gorzeman
I see eyes from all corners. On the surface us alligators only use our eyes in the hunt. Eyes that blink in the night—looking for men not unlike me, but the hunt goes deeper. I find the blue eyes to be the prettiest, peering out from pale faces. That’s what I hunt.
On quiet nights I wait at the watering hole taking notes. Watching. She prefers something sweet, the other more complex. I glance at her and raise a brow.
“Need another?” I say?
“Not tonight,” she says. “Maybe next time.”
Beneath the pond scum I float and wait.
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