Not looking away from the TV, on which three babies in diapers prance about like fat deer. So fuck off, she says. Ah, sweet Cindy, girl of our dreams, linger a little longer, won't you, for here, yes, headlights sweep the walls and momentarily your breathless husband shall arrive, ready to burst the seeds of your guilt, if not your womb. I don't trust you, says Onion Frau. Coming Clear N ot that it makes sense quite yet.
Days pass, in fact.
These several little piles each in turn becoming several more little piles whose vocabularies are small but almost scientific in their precision. B ut of course the world beyond doesn't stop. The Humpback Apparition, limping across the sidewalk and glaring through the glass door at our startled oaf Onion. You'll just have to meet her in the flesh like men, because clump limp clump limp up the stairs she comes, rusty thresher egads, so terribly terrifying in fact that poor flinching HH of F cracks a crown and, sucking in air, must suffer the added pain of an exposed dental nerve. But truly the sight is too much for our two, who after a frozen moment, fall over themselves to vacate the hall, leaving it for the Humpback who, unseen now, merely stops at the door and glares.