5 MWE The cook finished by stirring her soup with her long hair

It is most frustrating to whom I disgust that I insist on building up formaldehyde when, really, everyone knows that lab grade alcohol is what's used by the wretched and chafing bavians. Formaldehyde was never the best preservative of flesh. No, it was inferior to lab grade alcohol. Lab grade alcohol is what is used, and yet, in movies, it's formaldehyde that's got got the cache. What I like most about my boss is that she allows me time to speak with my PO. Your hands smell like your feet. You should be proud of yourself. Her hat had been damaged on a transatlantic voyage. Restrained by a time spent champing. I am in a stairwell near a rusted grate. I have sat on concrete. I am teasing through trash, looking for the tagged fish I had caught. A tagged fish is worth 500$ and a prize. I was supposed to have been the dump manager, but, instead, the position went to the volunteer firecaptain's son. I set all that still looked of worth in a shack I had put in a treetop.

Gargoylism is what she suffered from. She sat beneath a drizzle to annoy me. Here I am attempting to lead conversation. I have a ring on my finger that I move from my pointer to my thumb. I open her mouth and put it in. This is the decline. The humiliation. She reminds me of the Jeune Orpheline in the Cimitiere. She reminds me of someone lounging in Balthus. She boodled me. I was douped. Gouged. Chiseled. I saw that--since I had last seen her--thousands of freckles had grown on her arms and shoulders. Moles were their lieutenants. The word picture was not what we had wanted. This was another story of someone falling asleep with a cigarette. We tried to register our romantic consciousnesses on each other. Abysm. Glans. A derry, a ballad in the brick arm of a crumbling in and out building. She lived in a dome her father had built. She heard children say that they wanted where she lived. She started to grow a tree in her room with the hope that, eventually, it would burst through her roof and ruin her father's property. He gave her mother a disease. He gave his daughter a cadeau that had something soured in in.

I eructed her dish. It had been a ramekin of the darkest icecream chocolate. I am allergic to latex. As a surgeon, I had to switch to a different grade of glove. I go to hotel rooms and worry that whoever had made the bed had worn latex gloves as protection. I once went to a party--saw hundreds of latex balloons on a ceiling--and wondered when I'd start choking. My father and the things inside him--the rancors--the size of pullet eggs. I have a certain aversion to the unconcerned. I have balanced a stack of bricks on my head. Peevish. She was techy. We were in a submarine--on a tour on which we were supposed to see ruins. I gave her a trinket, but it impressed her too much. They had stationed me in the attic--and all I was to do was throw whatever I scooped into my arms into a dumpster. They had to move the ton of dirt from one place to another. He lived in a yert. He had been a balloon pilot. He had sent his daughter hundreds of miles away from him because he was certain that she was taking him on dates when they went to movies. They locked his son in the arcade at night and asked him if he could break in, if he could get any of the tokens out.