His pathetic need always made me feel slightly sick. A sweaty red face announced his intentions...just another language I'd picked up without ever meaning to. My pretending not to understand made him work harder and made me smile.
The dance was ungainly, unlovely and bladder- voidingly sad. Crying was a waste of precious water in these barren, faithless times.So grief took novel and extravagant forms. No expense was spared. No one was spared...Only the best rope was used. She swung smoothly till the very last. All money raised was spent.
At exactly a quarter past fifty she shut up shop. She quietly mourned her unused eggs, her proto- children. She was sorry, she hated waste...And she had wasted so very much.
