Sublime

dipsomaniacal tragedian progressively crippled by obsessions with death

tetchy

Leopold Bloom imagines his impotent manhood in the bathwater and calls it the limp father of thousands. And then I thought, if I was smart enough to quote James Joyce in the bathtub, why did I feel so stupid in front of these girls? Finally, one of the twins walked in. I’d been hoping for both, but beggars can’t be choosers. With my back to her, I

Sylvanshine could almost literally see the small pink man drinking Pepto-Bismol straight out of the bottle and going home to a woman who treated him like an uninteresting stranger.

In his mind he was the protagonist of every story, the center of everyone’s appalling attention;

The Excitement-Hope-Acquisition-Contempt cycle of seduction always left Orin stunned and wrung out and not at his quickest on the uptake.