5 MWE

What was it but a disaster? Never insulted--but never encouraged. What was it but a mess in a ravine? She was in a ravine--and muddy. She could not have guessed how clouds would drift in the sky. Clouds are not against the sky. The sun is not against the sky. The leaves on the trees are not against the sky. When the ravine became a mess, it no longer interested the people who had first noticed it. These people were not essential to any kind of math. They were not necessary as far as the leveling of mounds go. They simply ate what ended up on the plates they had made themselves. They knew not to put things that had hidden airpockets into their kilns. It was an airpocket. An airpock. An airparrot. An airpatrol. He saw the word antsy and thought nasty. He kept thinking it, though he knew he wouldn't win the next hand of cards. The cards had been slicked with petroleum jelly. They played their game underwater. He did not enjoy the taste of lychee.

What she said was not tasteful--nor was it nutritious. It was not healthful. It was just a cruelty she could get across with her breath. She asked him to find a mucous membrane on her and he did. He had no trouble finding a mucous membrane. When he found one on her, he asked her if he could put an etching into it. That was, after all, his art. He wanted to perform his art. He did not mind if anyone watched his performance. That he did not mind was not unusual because so rarely did he perform his art for anyone--and so often he did it in a darkened room. His dark and darkened art. Children sold mangoes on the side of the road. They sold mangoes and lychee. One child had a large burn on the side of his leg. The other child had a plastic bag full of clear liquid. This liquid was water presumably. "It is seawater," the child informed people. These people were certainly not normal. They had mercy on their faces. They had blotches on their arms that looked alarming.

She was in haste because it was most comfortable. With a little bit of sand in her stockings, she couldn't think. What was it? How had she been heckled on the beach? She had been on the beach--and it was then that she had been heckled by a man. The man had come out of the ocean with his hands full of glass. This was not seaglass--stuff rounded off and tumbled. It was freshly broken. He had it in his hands--and then he heckled. She had not been ready. Her mother had once called all her ranges narrow. All her interests were narrow. She, at least, had never been called hideous. Never such. On the rail, it was. This was the time that the glass broke. How did it break before it ended in the sea? What it was was something mistaken for a breed of cat--a breed that had been made and documented on the television. So much yowling--we had to turn the volume around. We had qualms. We were reluctant. Someone had painted out windows white on the outside, so we had to take our razors and scrape. Someone had painted our windows white on the inside--and oh how our house stank.