I told you: actual stink lines wave in the air above it. They’re hand-drawn. Don’t believe me? Hold your breath (seriously, don’t breathe) and take a closer look. See? Pencil marks.
My aunt started hers years ago, before the seas dried out. It’s packed. Most of the starfish are carefully stretched flat. Others are twisted into curious shapes; these are the ones which died natural deaths, and were frozen in their final poses of concealment or frantic attempts at escape.
It isn’t really honey, of course, any more than the fat birdlike things which produce it are really puffins.
This afternoon I dropped my cell phone down the drain and ran the garbage disposal until the noise and the smell made me stop.
You’ve finally figured out why that girl, the middle-schooler with the distant expression and the flat dark eyes, creeps you out so much.