He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. Spurling. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. Pig? By George, every one of them looks like the other; and yet each one attacks the source of supply with a squeal and an oof that's entirely different from his brothers' and sisters'. I was his wife. She felt very cool as he opened the door for her, as if she should have chic sunglasses and stiletto heels on, dark red lipstick.
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