Monday, February 12, 2007

Yonge Line, sharing the middle pole with six other disembodied arms.

Asian male, late teens, wearing a blue fleece jacket with scarf and red and green striped toque. His upper lip is soft and furry. A razor has never touched his face.

Thud!, Terry Pratchett (Corgi)

Page 160:

She crouched down to bring her nose nearer to the floor. I can smell dwarfs, lots of dwarfs, Angua thought. Hard to smell trolls, especially underground. Blood on the club, like a flower.


He wipes a circle on the mirror, its edges melting almost immediately, and mouths her name again. His younger brother is in the shower, the bathroom filling with steam. He wipes another circle, his toothbrush bouncing off his lips.


His grandfather walks in and pushes the boy aside, splashing his face, once, twice, then leaves. His brother yelps in the shower. He brushes his teeth, spitting out the excess toothpaste and tapping his toothbrush on the side of the sink. He leans close to the mirror and draws the toothbrush carefully up under his chin, along his cheeks, and, zip, zip, zip across his upper lip. He studies his reflection, his face covered in minty Colgate.


His little brother stands naked on the bathmat toweling his hair in a furry. He lifts the toilet seat and, looking over at his older brother, breaks into peels of laughter, pointing at the morning's erection.

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