turps

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Frank blinks back to awareness leaning back against a wall, the concrete cool on his shoulders. He breathed in - the air was clean. The faintest tang of sea salt made him think of Atlantic City. Then he glanced down. Splattered on his skin, soaking into his jeans coated his arms from fingertip to elbow was blood. Frank sucked in a breath, and a coppery tang settled in his sinuses, at the back of his throat. He remembers //Slick skin, slime against his hands// and he whimpers.

"Frank?" Bob's voice sounds very far away. Then all that registered was flight, wind on skin, chilling him were the liquid lingered.

Frank looked at his hands, breath hitching in his chest, took in the steady drip from the faucet and reached for paper towels.
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Don't worry - there's more. :)