When is a house not a home?
Created | Updated May 3, 2006
If I took a small sausage and knitted a sock for it, would the Dow Jones turn up or walk away?
I turned the knob both ways, but the radio didn't change. It was still plasticine painted to look like pork.
Small children sang wordlessly of the last time they saw a dictionary eat a dove.
The shift lever wouldn't move the right way, but a member of the board thrust a small vote forward by way of proselytizing the choir.
Azure were her eyes and unswollen was her sweater. But her sweat pants showed the remains of a small old dinner, swilled with abandon and an ex-brother-in-law.
Two young Nigerian boys oogled two mature Algerian women whose clothing seemed to have been borrowed from someone two sizes too small. The slight hint of erotic intent in the area was tightened by the fact that the women were changing the oil on the boy's Vespa.
