tops of the spot

I was a tyro, I suppose. I sat on a cane chair, and she did, too. Earlier, her friends had dropped her off in a white car. They had white teeth. A blind man knew who had white teeth. He always knew who had the whitest teeth, and everyone thought he was magic. Really, though, he just listened to whoever laughed the most. He knew that person to be the one with the whitest teeth--what since she showed them off laughing so much.

She was not frail, but she had broken more limbs than I had. She knew what it was like to be encased, to be carapaced. She once had lice. She once drank much cream--a carton--because she saw it in a pink and white container in the fridge.

This desultory relation of mine, I thought I saw him in a hallway. As it turned out, he was younger than I was and was in a woman who had the same name as his mother. This was not unstable to him. I asked him if I could sample his armhair and he said no. I said what of your headhair, your liphair. He never said yes. What he said was that he'd speak to my father and tell him to get all his sights lined and his rounds cased. Speculation as to how much throbbing. Is the flux bloody or phlegmmmed? What of my shabby cuffs and collar? What of my shappy face?

Anyone as thin as her should have worn all sweaters. So what of the nap. A grasp, a jerk, a sheet pulled tight over her face. Pulled tight over her face, the sheet flattened her nose. She screamed into the sheet, and a wet spot opened where her mouth was or would have been.