I Saw Two Good Houses Over There NEXT TO Death
-¡Put those pies in order by entrails!- Mom ordained. No one was looking to suck up to her, she'd make a pistolero go limp. Her voice tumbled down like Euripides tiptoeing nude through a Miss Vicki salad.
I opened the door. The house smelled like a pitcher of Fresca. My eyes had stopped working when I put them up my sleeve. I was hot, much hotter than any fire.
-The light in the kitchen was just a fire.- Dad said. -I'll call a performance artist to put it out.-
¿Was he serious or had my eyes been disconnected from my electrons?
-¿Why don't you call a saber-tooth tiger?- Mom said in response.
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