Dead Lizards
Henry, the lizard, had sat on Tommy’s shoulder for weeks, everywhere except the chow hall. He perched there like royalty, gazing upon his subjects.
Everyone loved Henry.
Tommy had owned Henry for several months, and I was sure he turned his head slightly when I spoke to him. I may have imagined it, but everyone agreed—out of all the cell lizards, Henry was the smartest.
The weather turned cold and wet here, and we didn’t see Henry for a week. When he finally resumed his customary position on Tommy’s shoulder, he seemed a little grumpy. His head stopped turning, as if he wanted nothing to do wi...
