"I got a black, black heart," said Poison Pie. We all laughed because, of course, he doesn't have a black heart. He has a heart made of muscles, toughened by years of pumping, the ochre color of mushrooms. It's a funny thing to say though, "I got a black, black heart." It makes you laugh, especially when it isn't true. When it is true, it's not so funny. When a body does end up with a black, black heart, then I suppose it's not funny at all. I suppose, rather, it's a sad affair. That said, I began to wonder about whether there might be a grain of truth to Poison Pie's words. After all, there is something of a primordial sadness in his great sulking gait and his slouched shoulders. "What sort of things turn a heart to black?" I asked Poison Pie.