The Volkswagen Karmann Ghia, all the style without any of the frills.
Rollo Decks sat in his dilapidated Karmann Ghia, watching, mostly waiting. He slowly opened the door, for any other approach would have surely unhinged it from the car. He walked up to a man walking a small dog. On closer inspection, it was a large cat.
“Excuse me. Question. You seem to lack intelligence. You have the gait of a wounded porcupine. You exude visible stink lines.”
“Dear Lord, it’s not you, it’s me.”
Thomas Knockers was in a bad way, and it was obvious. He had dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. The veins looked like overlapping routes on a GPS. A greater display of his discomfort was in the way he pressed the palms of his hands against his head, above the ears, as if trying to play a stubborn accordion. He was experiencing the mother of all migraines.
More people die from wood chipper accidents annually than people killed by alligators.
Guiseppe Winnipeg was in a serious pickle. You see, in order for Guiseppe to speak, he needed to use his hands. He had to gesticulate, otherwise, he was reduced to stammering and resorting to saying things like whaddayah call them things, or you know that guy, the guy, that guy. Since he could not snap his fingers, he was utterly useless, like a lighter with fresh flint and zero butane.
Beware! Don’t be fooled. This may appear to be a regular harmless trombone, but it is in actuality, the dreaded and vicious sad trombone. Use great caution. If caught in its hypnotic influence, instant death is inevitable.
It was 8:20 A.M. The train was packed with people and it smelled like it. The train went dark as it entered the tunnel. Not even a second later, the light was immediately replaced with an eerie man-made incandescence. A complete shift had occurred. You could no longer tell if it were night or day.
Vance Afro was utterly sandwiched between a pole against his back and a short old man, further flanked by a woman straining to carry a six-year old child, a schlub who needed to shower yesterday, and a businessperson.
This is probably a good time to pause for an explain this to me moment. The term businessman surely indicates male; and businesswoman, female. Yet when one says businessperson, we insinuate that the gender is female. This has been an explain this to me moment.