He was flattened to the ground, lower than a snakebelly.
Her mother was betwixt and between, and her father the same; but Rosie was as thin as a yard of pump-water, and could—and did—eat like a beagle without ever putting-on an extra ounce. Maybe she was abusing her good-fortune.
“Did you know your wenis is showing?” “My what?” “Your wenis!” How hilarious. This joke — which I didn't get — was on me. “You got punk'd, girlfriend!” squealed Caitlin when I told her. Kitch had heard that one before. “Wenis is the medical term for the flabby skin on the elbow,” he said. I stood in front of the mirror, fingering my wenis. Flabby, was it?
He finished two laps ahead of me.
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