by J.S. Hollins Luis Villasmil I rashly decided to shave my armpits, and discovered a baseball-sized sac of pus. The first time it burst between my fingers, no pus came out, only blood diluted with water that reminded me of hot wine, and what I imagined the blood gushing from Christ’s spear-wound must have looked like. The boil only grew larger and I more sadistic — constant squeezing and hot towel presses, yet no google remedy could get it to explode. Hours I’d