He slid his dry tongue against the bottom of his top jagged teeth, and, of course, it bled, and it obviously tasted like it. Truth is, this was a daily ritual, something about how hope springs eternal with your own fluids in your mouth. It’s an archaic German expression, so it doesn’t matter. For the first time in the last hour, Emile Prattwell stopped everything. He was discombobulated by the apparent elephant in the room question: Would this be a completely different experience if he was a cannibal?
The results were unquestionable, even conclusive. Roman Moranski had full blown diphtheria. He was far from happy upon hearing these results, but it was nothing compared to Dr. Patel’s wrath. She obsessed over the inconvenience and cost of the decontamination process alone. And don’t you dare get her started on how this would mess up her brand new aquarium filled with the rarest most expensive tropical fish for the waiting room.
“It is with utmost regret that we are gathered here today. I’m not sure who said these wise words, but it is most fitting. There is nothing sadder than a parent having to bury their child, especially if the child is not yet dead.”
It was her yoga mat. In a very general way, you could accuse Emma Hopkins for being a clean person, although one could easily disperse such thoughts by getting a good whiff of the atrocious rolled up foam rubber tucked under her arm. In a world where everything is under a constant magnifying glass, you would see her armpit scream vomiting.