Lazarus argentatus

They take the blue man out on a stretcher, stiff in cyanotic repose until the paramedics shake him.  He sits bolt upright, startled, confused, indignant.

‘Lazarus?'  I ask.

‘Argyria.  Happens every fucking time he naps on the couch.  Someone looks in the window, calls 911.'

The paramedics hate him.  Nutter has pica, they say, and eats silver; it turned him blue.

I say if you come back to life you can eat whatever you want.