The baker receives a store-bought cake for her birthday, but that falls in line with the way her life has gone; always on the receiving end of a thoughtless gesture, always coming in third or fourth. It’s her attitude: finicky and preferential. Now she talks about it, saying that homemade carrot cake is squishier. What she means is that she’s still a little disbelieving in the fact that no one rallied to make her a cake with their own two hands.
Noted: feeling of helpless despair when person is standing on the other side of the counter and staring at you, waiting…you can’t say anything to them because it’s your move and the computer program simply won’t load. That long moment of awkward silence makes us look really, really dumb.
To Read: Eli Gottleib’s The Boy Who Went Away
An old woman with a student ID and a scraggly beard has, when she breathes (which is to say, “constantly”) the stalest brand of halitosis I have ever encountered. In fact, I’m led now to believe that ninety percent of what we call “halitosis” is light-to-moderately offensive bad breath, morning breath…whatever the case an immature version of this woman’s rank exhaust.
Pleasant surprise manifests in a slight curling of the lip, and a scrunching of the facial skin at the corner of the eye, creating soft crow’s feet.
The woman who used to be very pretty but has aged and only looks beautiful when she casts off the weight of her lessons and smiles.
A woman whose ID depicts her as a brunette but in person her hair is white with the slightest impression of blondeness.
A 6’2″ girl with the surname “Short”.
A weasely fellow that stank of misdeeds felt nervous and guilty about betraying taglines, saying “Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag, now.”